Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  “I was told you would no longer allow your name to be linked with hers and you withdrew your proposal.”

  “Sophronia returned my ring right after she somehow heard my bank account was as empty as her promises to me.”

  “That would have made many a man bitter,” Yancey said. “Did her change of heart have that affect on you?”

  “Not in the least. In truth, some of Sophronia’s single-mindedness could be quite terrifying.” Yancey felt a stir as Plaisted lowered his voice and bent toward him. “There was little she wouldn’t stoop to in order to advance her plans.”

  “What sort of stooping?”

  “I cannot remember details. Just a general impression. It was a long time ago and I’ve moved on.”

  “But did you leave the past behind entirely?”

  “Why would I not? Eventually I amassed another fortune, even greater than the first.” Congressman Plaisted smiled and crossed his hands over his vest. “I even found the courage to give my heart away once more to a far more deserving woman.”

  “I understand that Mrs. Plaisted was once also a close associate of Miss Foster Eldridge. Did that make things difficult for you?”

  “Why should it? My dear wife had no desire to continue her acquaintance with Sophronia after we became engaged. As for me, I have always found it an easy thing to leave the past behind.”

  “Your behavior toward Miss Foster Eldridge at the rally did not look like that of a man who had left things behind,” Yancey said.

  “Chief Hurley and I have enjoyed renewing our friendship and our commitment to the common cause of traditional family values. Did you ask your superior about your plans to question me?”

  “Causes like anti-suffrage?” Yancey asked.

  “You’ve heard of us. Are you considering becoming a member yourself?”

  “I’m afraid even if I shared your beliefs there would be no peace for me if I acted upon them.”

  “You have the look of a man who is married to an opinionated woman.”

  “No, I’m not married. I live with my mother and my younger sister, both of whom are ardent suffragists. In fact, my sister took on the role of Miss Foster Eldridge’s secretary as soon as she arrived in town.”

  “You have my pity. Women are natural rulers of the domestic sphere. They degrade us all when they turn their backs on their birthright and reach out with sticky, grasping hands for that which they are biologically unsuited.”

  “So your disruptive attendance at suffrage rallies is wholly motivated by your desire to keep women from degrading themselves and the rest of the nation? None of your interest has ever been in striking out at an individual woman whom you feel wronged you?”

  “Sophronia wronged herself. If she had remained faithfully at my side during my times of difficulty she surely would not have died such an untimely death.” Plaisted pushed back his chair. “Should you have any more questions about my character or the workings of my organization I suggest you take them up with Chief Hurley. After all, he is one of the founding members.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Yancey was certain as soon as he turned his back on the Hotel Belden Miss Proulx would take it into her head to continue to ask questions of the guests and the staff. There was not a single thing he’d be able to do to prevent her. If he were honest he would admit he was happy to have some help, especially since there were other interviews he felt were more pressing.

  He doffed his hat as he entered Thomas’s photography studio. The wall opposite the door was covered with images, and Yancey wished, not for the first time, that he wasn’t there on business. Before he turned to the reason for his visit he lingered for just a moment looking at photographs that captured the pier in various stages of completion. A swell of pride caught him off guard as he remembered what the beach had looked like before and how the pier stood as a symbol of economic hope for all the townspeople.

  “I’ve got the photographs of the march ready. The ones of the crime scene will still be a little while yet,” Thomas said as he stepped through the swinging door at the far end of the studio. He pointed to the long counter at the center of the small shop. Photographs covered its wooden surface. Yancey leaned over the offerings for a better look. Thomas had captured a surprisingly complete record of the event. And he had arranged the photographs chronologically on the counter.

  Images of crowds lining the street before the march began lay on one end of the counter and at the other were photographs of the collapsed stage and the ambulance wagons arriving. Through it all he had stayed at his task, snapping picture after picture regardless of the commotion around him.

  “How did you manage to keep taking photos with all the turmoil around you?” Yancey was impressed. “I shouldn’t have thought owning a studio would have prepared you for something like that.” Yancey lifted an image of a woman splayed on the ground with a man standing over her, jeering.

  “I haven’t always worked in a studio. I’ve done all sorts of different photography work. In fact, I’ve seen a lot worse than this during my time overseas.”

  “I didn’t know you spent time abroad,” Yancey said. He was surprised. It was the sort of thing many a man would have boasted about to all and sundry.

  Thomas shrugged. “It never came up before now. Besides, many of the memories are not ones upon which I wish to dwell.” Yancey thought back to his time in the army and felt a surge of connection and respect for Thomas. He spoke very rarely of such things himself and esteemed those who did likewise. He considered it something akin to sin to romanticize conflicts, especially those that had escalated to violence.

  “Where did you go?”

  “Africa, Europe, South America. A decent photographer can find work almost anywhere.”

  “Well, I appreciate the benefit of your experience. I never expected so many photographs or ones of this quality when you offered to show them to me.” Yancey leaned over the counter again and perused the scenes more slowly. “Did you notice anything strange about the collapse of the stage?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I was considering if it could have been deliberately knocked down,” Yancey said.

  “You think it may not have been an accident?” Thomas sounded surprised. “Do you think someone tried to kill Sophronia by rigging the stage and when it didn’t work they drowned her instead?”

  “Let’s say at this point I am keeping an open mind.”

  “These photos are of the stage and these are of the crowd around the time of the collapse. I don’t remember seeing anything that indicated deliberate sabotage but maybe the camera caught something I failed to notice at the time.” Thomas handed Yancey a magnifying glass from a tray on a shelf behind him and took another for himself. Both men bent over the display and began a methodical search.

  Photograph after photograph showed crowds and horses and hats knocked to the ground. They showed angry faces, determined expressions, and raised fists. Yancey couldn’t help but notice that Miss Proulx featured in more of the photographs than anyone else, including Sophronia. By a large number. He did not wish to consider why that knowledge made him feel less kindly toward his companion.

  While he wasn’t happy with his suspicions about Thomas’s interest in Miss Proulx or even worse, why it mattered to him in the least, it did make him aware that she was in the thick of things the entire time. With a good view of the action. He hoped Thomas had photographs that supported her story.

  Yancey held his magnifying glass over an image of the chief looking in the direction of the stage. There beside him was Henry Goodwin. They stood quite close together but nothing in the photograph indicated they were interacting.

  “You don’t have any other images of these two together, do you?”

  “Let’s see. Here’s one.” Thomas tapped his finger against a photograph in front of him. Yancey took it and inspected
it carefully. Sure enough, his boss and Henry were turned toward each other and appeared to be conversing. He would have given a lot to know what had been said.

  “Does the collapse come shortly after this photograph in the sequence?” Yancey handed it back. Thomas placed it in the right spot and nodded.

  “It was taken only moments before, at most. Do you think those two were involved in what happened?” Yancey liked Thomas and had appreciated being able to rely on his help. But he would be a foolish man to share his suspicions about his chief with anyone until he had much more proof. Lucy knew what he was up to by working for the chief only because she knew Yancey so well. And because she was an excellent guesser.

  “For now, I’m just hoping they may have seen something since they were so close to the action. I’ll ask Chief Hurley what was going on at the time.”

  “Here’s another one with the chief.” Thomas handed another photograph to Yancey. The chief stood near the stage in that one as well but his companion was a man Yancey thought he should recognize but didn’t. There was something familiar about him but he just couldn’t put his finger on why. There was no doubt that Chief Hurley was having a conversation with the man, though. The photograph clearly showed the man pointing to something near the stage and the chief leaning to the side to get a better view.

  “Do you mind if I borrow these two to show him?”

  “Take any of them you would like. I have the plates and can make copies of any of them.”

  “I’ll bring them back within a day or two. I appreciate all your help.”

  Yancey pocketed the photographs. He was about to take his leave when his glance fell once more on a particularly fetching photograph of Miss Proulx.

  “I’d like to thank you for all your help and to impose on you for one more favor?” he asked. Lucy was an attractive young lady, too. There was no reason she wouldn’t also capture Thomas’s notice. Especially since he seemed keen on feisty damsels in distress.

  “I had the unpleasant duty of informing my sister, Lucy, of Miss Foster Eldridge’s death earlier today. She was quite distressed by the news. There’s little chance I’ll be able to get home to check on her myself and I wondered if you would be willing to do so in my place?”

  “It would be my privilege to do so on your behalf. But are you certain I should intrude upon her at what will likely prove a difficult time?” Thomas asked. Yancey took another look at Miss Proulx’s dark eyes staring intently at him from yet another of Thomas’s photographs.

  “On the contrary, I am certain we will all feel better if you did.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Honoria took the news of Sophronia’s death more calmly than I might have expected. In fact, she seemed almost relieved.

  “I can’t say that I am entirely surprised,” she said when I located her in the family parlor, where she was tidying up a bit. George’s presence could still be felt in the neatly folded blanket at the foot of the sofa but the gentleman himself was nowhere in sight. Honoria seated herself on the sofa and patted the spot beside her. Her face still bore signs of strain I attributed to the harrowing events of the prior day. I doubt she slept any better than the rest of us had or likely would that night, either, considering what had happened to Sophronia.

  “Do you believe Sophronia’s death is the reason for your prophetic dream?” I asked. A shiver ran between my shoulder blades and I understood better why my aunt had looked so distressed when her dream had first occurred. It was an unsettling thing to see such evil events before they happened. Honoria’s gift seemed more like a burden. I felt a wave of gratitude that my own experiences with things I could not explain were rarely so grim.

  “I hope so but I cannot be sure. Prophetic dreams are much like other dreams. They fade as time passes and they return in snatches of memory when something in the immediate environment causes recall. I am still piecing it all together.”

  “Do you have any better sense now of what the warning was for?” I asked. “Are there any other misfortunes we can expect to endure?”

  “I confess, this dream has been particularly muddled.” She gave me a long look.

  “Why do you think that is?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer. I hoped her look had not meant it was my fault in some way but I was afraid that was exactly what it meant.

  “I have not had such an intense dream as this one was since your mother passed over to the other side. I think this dream is personal and I think you are what is making it so.”

  “Am I in danger?” I felt my heart lurch in my chest. I had just settled into a life I wanted to live. I had no desire to lose it anytime soon. But looking at Honoria’s face I knew she was worried about exactly that.

  “I wish I could say that I am not worried for you. The things I’ve remembered of the dream disturb me still. They are not entirely reconciled with what has happened to Sophronia.”

  “What else have you remembered?”

  “I’m not sure I should tell you. Saying terrible things out loud always feels to me like I am daring them to come to pass.” Honoria reached over and touched my cheek with her plump hand.

  “I have a very vivid imagination. I think I would find it easier if you shared what you’ve seen rather than letting me create even worse things in my own mind.” I wasn’t just curious about her dream. My mind’s eye was picturing all sorts of horrors, from a fire ravaging the Belden and trapping me on the third floor to a disfiguring incident between my bicycle and an inexperienced automobile driver. Honoria must have sensed my agitation.

  “I’ve seen you struggling mightily to breathe,” she said. “It is as if the air was being pressed out of your lungs by an outside force.” Honoria twisted the rings on her hands like she always did when she became unnerved.

  “Maybe you dreamt about Mr. Fredericks’s concerns for my chances of contracting hay fever. According to the book he authored and so generously gave to me, those who suffer from catarrh often struggle to breathe. Sometimes it feels as though the air is shut completely off at their throats.”

  “It wasn’t just that. The next image I remember is that of us facing each other. You open your mouth to speak and as soon as you do the ground between us rumbles and shakes. An enormous chasm forms with you on one side and me on the other.” Honoria looked so distressed I felt soothing her was beyond my ability.

  I tried another tack. “Would you like to speak to Officer Yancey about your concerns? Would that help to put your mind at ease?” I asked. Honoria let loose a most unladylike snort.

  “I doubt very much that the police would take such a thing seriously. Can you imagine that Chief Hurley, or Yancey for that matter, would start an investigation based on a dream?”

  “No, I suppose I can’t. Do you have anything to share with them that they might be more willing to consider?”

  “Like what? A suspect based on something I witnessed with my waking eyes?”

  “Something like that would prove ideal.”

  “No, I don’t. I was hoping you had seen something yourself.”

  “I was too busy trying to keep to my feet to see much of anything clearly. I’ve already told Officer Yancey what I did see.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I remember seeing Chief Hurley speaking with Henry Goodwin only moments before the collapse. Henry and some other boys scattered into the crowd and that’s when all the pushing and shoving started.”

  “Did you have the impression the boys were responsible for the chaos?”

  “At the time I thought maybe they were just being boisterous. In such a tightly packed crowd their rambunctiousness could have easily led to accidents.”

  “But now you think more may be involved? You think it was deliberate?”

  “I don’t know. What I am sure of is that Officer Yancey and I searched Sophronia’s room and were unable to discover the manu
script she claimed to have written.”

  “Do you think it was stolen?”

  “I’m not sure it ever existed in the first place. Apparently even Miss Rice hasn’t seen it. She says Sophronia told her it would be safer for her if she remained unaware of its contents.”

  “You seem remarkably well-informed. Are you assisting with the investigation in some way? Don’t tell me you’ve convinced young Yancey to ask for help beyond the world of the physical?”

  “No, I simply provided a chaperone when he interviewed Miss Rice and assisted with the search of Sophronia’s room.” I debated whether or not to mention what Lucy shared about George. I decided Honoria had endured enough terrible news for one day.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Yancey stepped into the station thinking about who to question next. He really ought to head back to the Belden to talk with the Cheswicks. From what Lucy had said, all three of them might be able to provide him with some much needed answers. But first he wondered if there were any messages from his mother or sister. No sooner had he walked to his desk to check than the door to the chief’s office opened and Robert Jellison, followed by Frank, filed out. Both men were smiling. Without even a nod of acknowledgment to the officers in the room Robert Jellison strode out of the station, banging the door behind him.

  Robert Jellison, known to his many detractors as Jelly Roll, owned the large luxury hotel next to the Belden. He was a prominent local businessman with properties scattered all over town, including bathhouses that competed with Pinckney Ferris’s own elaborate establishment. He also happened to be married to the chief’s sister.

  “The chief wants to see you,” Frank said as he sauntered to his desk.

  Chief Hurley’s office smelled, as it always did, of stale smoke and fried fish. The chief sat behind his desk, turning a paper knife over and over in his hands. He used it to point at the chair opposite him. Yancey sat.