by K. B. Owen
A disturbing thought, is it not?
Most disturbing.
Concordia folded her hands primly in her lap. “The luncheon was crowded, and the air stifling, so I decided to take a walk on the grounds before the dessert course.”
O’Neil made a note on his pad. He gestured to the main gravel path up the slope behind them. “But as you can see, the shed is out of the way. What brought you here?”
“I was standing at the end of the path,” Concordia said, pointing behind her. She hated the lie, but had better do a good job of it. Safer not to trust this man, at least until she could speak with Capshaw. “I thought I heard something. Like a moan,” she added, for dramatic effect.
This earned her a sharp look from the doctor, who was standing within earshot. Concordia flushed. She wondered if Mr. Rosen had been in no condition to moan. Perhaps embellishment wasn’t a good idea.
“So you know of no reason why Mr. Rosen would have been in the gardener’s shed?” Sergeant O’Neil persisted.
Concordia shook her head and leaned heavily on her parasol, a perfect vision of feminine distress. “I have no idea. Will that be all, sergeant? I’m feeling light-headed. I think I need to lie down.”
There was one thing to be said for having an attack of the vapors: everyone left you alone to recover from it. Of course, the smelling salts that Mrs. Houston insisted upon waving under Concordia’s nose when they first returned to the house weren’t all that pleasant, but at least now Concordia had the solitude to think about her next step.
She paced the confines of her childhood bedroom. What had Rosen wanted to tell her? It was obviously connected to the Black Scroll; that’s what she and Miss Hamilton had asked him to look into. Presumably that was why he was murdered.
Then she had a chilling thought. If Rosen was killed to ensure his silence, that meant the killer knew of Concordia’s involvement. And perhaps Miss Hamilton’s as well.
She must talk to Capshaw, right away. He might know where to locate Miss Hamilton so they could warn her. And perhaps he would know what they should do next.
She glanced at the little clock on the desk. Almost dinner. Concordia changed quickly and went downstairs.
Concordia’s mother and Robert Flynn, who was joining them for the evening, were waiting in the parlor for Mrs. Houston to announce dinner.
“How are you feeling, dear?” Mrs. Wells asked anxiously. Flynn had stood politely as Concordia entered the room, but she waved him back to his chair and sat down herself.
“Much better.” Concordia looked over at Flynn, ever elegant in his stiff white shirt and black worsted evening tails. “I know I was originally planning to accompany you to the musical entertainment at Mrs. Griffiths’ this evening, but would you mind going without me?”
“Never fear, we’ll make your excuses to the lady,” Robert Flynn assured her. “’Tis a dreadful experience you’ve had.”
Mrs. Wells shuddered. “I cannot believe this has happened. Who would want to kill this...newspaperman? And at our luncheon, too.”
Flynn patted her hand. “I’ll allow ’tis a dreadful thing, but thank the stars we managed to keep the guests out of it. Except for the doctor, and he’s as discreet a fellow as ever stood in shoe leather. It’s unlikely to be a prominent story when the guests learn of it later, I imagine.”
Concordia suppressed a sigh. The newspaperman would have been quite upset to know that his own murder wasn’t considered a “prominent story.”
“I imagine a quiet evening at home is just what you need,” Mrs. Wells said to Concordia.
“Actually, I had hoped to visit Sophia,” Concordia said. “Would you mind dropping me off there on your way to the Griffiths’ function?”
Mrs. Wells’ face brightened. “Sophia? I haven’t seen her since the wedding. Oh, I would love to visit with her, even if it’s only for a little while.” She turned to Flynn. “Would you mind if we left a little early, and stopped briefly at the Capshaws? I’m sure we could be at Agatha’s in time for the quartet.”
“It’s equal to me,” Flynn said with a shrug. “A policeman’s house, eh?” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Should be interesting.”
Mrs. Wells turned to Concordia. “But how will you get home? We’ll be out quite late.”
“I’m sure I can stay the night. Then I can walk back or take the trolley tomorrow morning. It’s not that far,” Concordia said. “I’ll send a note ’round to her, just to make sure.”
The evening ride from the Wells’ home in Frog Hollow to the Capshaws in the Clay Hill neighborhood was mercifully free of traffic, and they made quick time. Flynn told the driver to wait nearby. “Look lively, lad, and don’t go far. We’ll be no more’n thirty minutes.”
Sadie opened the door and took their wraps. “The missus is in the parlor,” she said, leading the way.
Robert Flynn’s eyebrow quirked as his eyes swept over the cracks in the plaster walls and the scuffs in the wood floor. Concordia gritted her teeth when she caught Flynn giving her mother an amused smile, to which Mrs. Wells paid no attention.
“Sophia!” Mrs. Wells exclaimed, when they entered the parlor. She clasped the young woman’s hands warmly. “You look wonderful. I knew marriage would agree with you.”
Indeed, Concordia noted in surprise, Sophia seemed lighter and happier today, as she smiled and exchanged greetings with Concordia’s mother and Mr. Flynn.
“Aaron will be back in a few minutes. Please, be comfortable,” Sophia said. She turned back to Mrs. Wells and Mr. Flynn. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” Without waiting for a response, Sophia grabbed Concordia by the elbow and nearly dragged her from the room.
“What is it?” Concordia whispered, when they were in the hall and Sophia had closed the parlor door behind them.
Sophia was hopping up and down in her excitement. “Eli has been found! He’s coming home.”
Concordia put a hand to her mouth. Thank heaven. “How is he? Did Miss Hamilton tell you what happened?”
Sophia shook her head. “It was a short telegram. She merely said that he’s recovering from injuries, but he’ll be fine.”
Injuries.
Concordia felt a little sick. Had the boy been in a strange hospital all this time? It was agonizing that Miss Hamilton hadn’t revealed more. No doubt it was all she could do to send them word.
Sophia must have read Concordia’s expression, because she reached out and squeezed her hand. “She said he’ll be fine,” she reminded her.
“When are they coming?” Concordia asked.
“I’m not sure. She said she would find the fastest conveyance possible. Now we wait.”
“Once mother and Mr. Flynn leave, there’s something urgent I need to talk with you and Cap—Aaron about,” Concordia said.
Sophia raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but stopped short when the front door opened. Capshaw walked in, followed by…David Bradley?
“Fortunately, Mrs. Gilley’s shop was open late,” Capshaw said, holding out a string-wrapped box. He grinned. “I got your favorite, Concordia—lemon tarts.” He gestured to David. “Look who I met on the walk back. I’ve just caught him up on our news.”
David nodded. “I was returning from a lecture, and realized I’ve been remiss in visiting you two since your marriage. And now, we have a great deal to celebrate, don’t we?” He eyed Concordia warmly. “Plenty of good news to go around.”
Capshaw gave her a quizzical look, but Concordia pretended not to notice.
At least David had recovered his good humor. There was no trace of his pique from last week’s encounter with Mr. Rosen in front of DeLacey House. But land sakes, how was she going to tell David about Rosen’s murder? How would he react when he learned that she’d been the one to find the dying man?
“We’d better go in to our guests,” Sophia said.
“Yes, let’s,” Concordia said, putting on a smile. “They cannot stay long.”
The group settled in over dessert. The talk t
urned to police work, in which Flynn took a great interest. Capshaw regaled them with outlandish stories of foolhardy criminals.
“The devil, you say!” Flynn exclaimed, at one point in Capshaw’s narrative. “The thief cooked a steak for himself and ate it, before taking the jewels? Egad, the cheek of the man!”
Capshaw grinned.
“More coffee?” Sophia offered, holding up the pot.
A rueful smile tugged at Flynn’s mouth as he pulled out his watch. “A pity it is to break up such a gathering, but we will be late if we don’t leave soon.”
“Oh my, yes!” Mrs. Wells exclaimed.
The doorbell rang at that moment, and Concordia caught a glimpse of Sadie hurrying to get it.
When Concordia saw who was at the door, she unabashedly stood up and craned her neck for a better look.
Miss Hamilton.
The next few minutes were an awkward jumble: the Capshaws rushing to the hall, heedless of their guests, with Concordia close at their heels. David, Letitia Wells, and Robert Flynn made polite, awkward talk as they waited.
And wondered.
Soon Concordia returned to the parlor, her expression a mixture of apology and pure happiness.
“Sophia asked me to extend her regrets for the disruption,” she said, “but her husband has police business he must attend to. Sophia and I are needed as well.”
David stood beside Concordia. “I’d be happy to stay and wait for you.” He dropped his voice. “I behaved quite foolishly last week. I wanted to apologize.”
Concordia smiled. “Yes, please stay. Perhaps we can talk more when you take me home later.” Now was not the time or place to discuss postponing their engagement. She didn’t know how she was going to broach that subject.
Sadie came down the hallway. “Mr. Flynn’s carriage is waiting.”
Flynn got to his feet and helped Mrs. Wells out of her chair. “’Tis past time we were leaving.”
Letitia Wells gave Concordia a worried glance. “Are the Capshaws all right?”
Concordia smiled. “Actually, it’s good news. I’ll explain tomorrow.”
Mrs. Wells nodded in relief and followed Flynn into the hallway, where he retrieved his hat and walking stick from the coat rack. Concordia heard him mutter “’Twould be a shame if we’ve missed the contralto,” to her mother, as he draped her shawl over her shoulders. He glanced through the open door of the study and paused, taking in the sight of the group seated by the fire: Miss Hamilton, Capshaw, and Sophia, with a very grimy Eli fast asleep in her lap.
“Robert? What’s wrong?” Mrs. Wells asked, following his frozen stare.
He flushed an angry red, gesturing toward the group in the study. “This is the police business for which we were kept waiting?” His voice was a low growl. “Who the devil are they?”
Mrs. Wells, mouth set in a grim line Concordia knew all too well from childhood, stalked out the front door to the waiting carriage without a backward look at her rude companion. Robert Flynn hurried to catch up with her as quickly as his dignity would allow.
Concordia didn’t envy Flynn the talking-to her mother would no doubt give him. And it was exactly what he deserved. Apparently the man wasn’t all charm; he obviously had a temper, along with an exaggerated sense of his own importance.
Concordia shook her head and joined the others in the study, where Sadie had set out some more tea and pastries for the guests.
Penelope Hamilton looked up. Concordia could see the exhaustion evident in the lady’s puffy, shadowed eyes, her creased brow and pale lips. “I regret our arrival made things awkward. Eli couldn’t bear to be away a minute longer. I hired a driver to bring us directly here, rather than travel by tomorrow’s train.”
Concordia regarded the sleeping boy in Sophia’s lap, a strand of dark curly hair obscuring part of his pale cheek. She would have done the same.
“I read the evening paper on the way here,” Miss Hamilton went on, with a sharp glance at Concordia. “I understand you dealt with a disturbing event today.”
Concordia sat down beside Sophia with a sigh. “Most disturbing.”
“I haven’t seen this evening’s paper. What’s happened?” David asked.
“Mother’s charity luncheon at the Yacht Club took a nasty turn.” Concordia turned to Capshaw. “That’s why I came to see you tonight, but we haven’t had a chance to talk. Mr. Rosen...is dead.”
“Rosen. The reporter from the Courant?” Capshaw asked. “How are you involved?” He gave her that look Concordia knew so well: You college ladies... always finding trouble.
Concordia clenched her hands together. “I found him in the gardener’s shed. He’d been hit over the head with a shovel.”
David drew in a sharp breath and looked in her direction, but Concordia wouldn’t return his glance. He no doubt wondered if the newspaperman’s murder was connected to their meeting at DeLacey House. She didn’t want to argue with him now about the perils of getting involved in a murder investigation. Although there was no avoiding that discussion later, she was sure.
“I’d heard there was a disturbance at the Yacht Club,” Capshaw said, “but I was on my way out of the station and had no time to learn the details.” He shook his head. “Had you gone searching for him? It’s a wonder you weren’t killed, too.”
Concordia bristled and started to speak, but Miss Hamilton interrupted. “Rosen was looking into the Black Scroll, specifically the Inner Circle. You remember the conversation I told you Concordia had overheard at the Isley party? Since we weren’t able to learn more about the group, we asked the reporter to make discreet inquiries. Certainly, we didn’t anticipate this.”
Sophia sucked in a quick breath as she glanced at Capshaw. “That was the group you told me about? The one who might be involved in you being taken off the case.”
Capshaw nodded, tight-lipped.
Miss Hamilton turned to Concordia. “Tell us what happened. From the beginning.”
Concordia dug into her skirt pocket and pulled out Rosen’s note. “He gave me this as the luncheon guests were being seated.”
Capshaw gave it a quick glance before passing it to Miss Hamilton. “And you have no idea what he was going to tell you?”
Concordia shook her head. “There were too many people likely to overhear. He didn’t dare say anything at the time.” She proceeded to describe Rosen’s signal, her delay in being able to get out of the room, finding Rosen in the shed, barely alive, then Maynard coming upon them.
“Wait a moment,” Capshaw said. “How did Randolph Maynard come to be on the scene? You said the gardener’s shed was off the path. What was he doing there?”
Concordia sat back in surprise. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I didn’t think of that before. I was simply grateful for the assistance. I didn’t want to leave Mr. Rosen alone in order to fetch help, and the dean offered to stay with him. He made him more comfortable while I ran to get one of the guests—a doctor.”
Capshaw and Miss Hamilton exchanged a glance.
“What is it?” Concordia asked.
“It seems suspicious,” Capshaw said.
“You mean, Maynard could be the murderer?” Concordia asked. “But why return to the shed? Wouldn’t he want to be as far from there as possible, for that very reason?”
Miss Hamilton leaned forward. “If Maynard is the murderer, he might have returned to make sure that Rosen was truly dead—” Concordia winced “—or perhaps he feared he had dropped something incriminating at the scene and had gone back to retrieve it.”
“And going with that assumption for a moment,” Capshaw added, “you leaving him alone with his victim would give him ample opportunity to scour the area.”
Concordia hesitated. “The dean was sitting right next to me when Mr. Rosen slipped me the note,” she said reluctantly.
“If Maynard were a Black Scroll member and realized the reporter knew something damaging, he could have decided to silence him,” Miss Hamilton said. “Perhaps R
osen wasn’t quite so cautious in his inquiries.”
“But our dean?” Concordia said incredulously. As disagreeable as Maynard was, could he really be a cold-blooded killer? He had seemed more concerned with the propriety of Concordia meeting a man alone in a remote shed.
“Now what do we do?” Concordia asked.
“Who’s assigned the case?” Capshaw asked her.
“A man named O’Neil.”
Capshaw grimaced. “The sergeant is diligent enough, though inexperienced. Did you tell O’Neil about the note, and the reason why you had gone looking for Rosen?”
Concordia shifted in her seat and glanced at Miss Hamilton. “I thought it was better to leave out that part.”
Capshaw rolled his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said grimly. “If someone killed Rosen to keep him from telling you what he knew, then you—and possibly Miss Hamilton—are known to be involved. Do you think whoever it is will scruple to kill another woman? We’ve discussed this before, miss. Leave the detecting to the professionals.”
“You must concede, Lieutenant,” Miss Hamilton said, coming to Concordia’s defense, “that we don’t know whom to trust in your department. Your removal from the Willoughby murder investigation does not inspire confidence in that regard. I believe Concordia’s caution was warranted. We don’t know anything about this man O’Neil, or what his superiors may request of him.” She gave Capshaw a stern look. “When this case is done, your department will have some unpleasant housekeeping to do.”
Capshaw scowled. “If our chief did indeed allow a group such as the Black Scroll to obstruct an investigation, he would have much to answer for.”
“Has your replacement made any progress in Florence Willoughby’s murder?” Concordia asked.
Capshaw’s jaw tightened. “Not what I would call ‘progress.’ The attack on the woman has been ascribed to the actions of an unstable individual. With no additional garroted victims since then, it is thought that the killer left the area and the danger to the public has passed. I don’t believe that for a moment, of course, but my opinion was not considered,” he added bitterly.