Murder in Chelsea

by Victoria Thompson

  His mother made that derisive noise again. “People like that don’t have a right to anything. That actress woman, she can’t care anything for the girl. What kind of mother leaves her child like that, not even knowing where she is? A woman like that shouldn’t be allowed to keep a cat!”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Sarah said with a trace of her usual spirit. “But her father—”

  “Making a baby don’t mean a man is a father. If he really cared about giving her a good life, he would’ve married her mother before he made her instead of trying to make up for it later.”

  Sarah turned to him, the color high in her cheeks. “She’s right. I shouldn’t feel sorry for them.”

  Frank didn’t know what was stranger, his mother giving Sarah advice or Sarah taking it. “No, you shouldn’t.”

  Sarah turned back to his mother. “When I found her, she’d been abandoned, and she’d been frightened so badly, she couldn’t speak for months. Heaven only knows what she saw or heard.”

  Someone pounded a little too enthusiastically at the door, startling all of them except Brian, whose attention was on trying to figure out what Sarah was talking about. His grandmother started signing to him while Frank got up to answer the knock.

  “Has it been hard to learn to sign?” he heard Sarah asking his mother as he left the room.

  Frank opened the door to a beat cop who had a message to him from Headquarters. He’d expected to just leave it for Frank’s eventual return and was surprised to find him at home.

  Frank read the message as he walked back to the kitchen.

  The two women looked at him expectantly. “Emma Hardy wants to see me.”

  * * *

  SARAH WANTED TO RUN TO THE ROOMING HOUSE WHERE Emma Hardy was staying, but Malloy wouldn’t tell her where it was.

  “Are you sure you want to meet this woman?” he asked her for at least the hundredth time in the last two blocks. Well, maybe he’d asked her more like three times, but it seemed like a hundred.

  “Of course I want to meet her. She’s Catherine’s mother.”

  “And that’s exactly why you shouldn’t meet her. What if she cries and tells you how much she misses her daughter and how much she loves her? What will you do then? Give Catherine back to her and wish her good luck?”

  Sarah tried to stop, but the surge of bodies around them kept moving forward, forcing her to go on or be knocked over. She grabbed Malloy’s arm and pulled him into the alcove of a shop doorway, where they could concentrate on talking. “You’re right to be concerned. An hour ago, I might have done just that, but your mother made me realize I can’t.”

  “My mother is crazy.”

  “Everybody’s mother is crazy, but what she said was perfectly correct.”

  “And it’s just what everybody else has been telling you, too.”

  “Yes, but everybody else loves me and wants me to be happy, and they know I’d be shattered if I lost Catherine. I couldn’t trust their judgment. But your mother . . .”

  “My mother definitely does not love you.”

  “Of course she doesn’t.” Sarah knew Mrs. Malloy was terrified she was going to take Frank and Brian away from her and leave her with nothing, even though Malloy had never shown the slightest inclination to allow Sarah to do anything of the kind. “And she’s not particularly interested in my happiness either, but if she sees that I can’t allow Emma Hardy and David Wilbanks to take Catherine, then I know it’s the right thing to do.”

  He still looked confused, but Sarah didn’t have time to figure out why or even discuss it with him.

  “We need to get to Emma Hardy. Let’s go!”

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one who stopped.”

  He took her arm and propelled her back into the flood of pedestrians making their way home for supper. In the press, they had no more opportunity for discussion, and concentrated their energies on arriving at their destination safely.

  Malloy stopped in front of one of the large old houses on a street just off Broadway. Its blistered paint and sagging porch marked it as a rooming house. “This is where Anne Murphy lived for most of the time after she left Catherine at the Mission,” he said. “She only moved to the place where you visited her when Emma wrote that she was coming home. Emma wanted Anne to move to a different place so she wouldn’t be easily found.”

  “And this is the place where Wilbanks thought Emma lived when she was in plays in the city.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Didn’t she bring her lover back with her this time?”

  Malloy gave her a small grin. “Let’s ask her.”

  Sarah marched up the steps with Malloy at her heels and knocked on the door with as much authority as she could manage. At attractive woman about her own age opened the door. She frowned at Sarah, then looked past her to Malloy.

  “Miss Hardy?” he asked.

  “Are you Malloy?” she replied.

  He nodded.

  “And who’s this?” She jutted her chin at Sarah.

  “Do you really want to discuss your private business in the doorway?” Sarah asked in the tone that usually made even women in labor obey her.

  Emma Hardy blinked in surprise, then glanced over her shoulder. Sarah could see several women gathered in the hallway behind her and making no effort to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping.

  “Mind your own business,” she told them, sending them flouncing off. “Come in,” she told Sarah.

  When she stepped inside, she noticed the brightly colored posters adorning the walls in the entrance hall. They gave the place a cheerier air than most of the boardinghouses she’d seen.

  Miss Hardy pointed to the parlor door, and Sarah went in. More posters hung here, but now Sarah could see they were faded and old. The worn furniture marked it as a common area, shared by all but enjoyed by none. Malloy followed her, and Emma Hardy closed the parlor door behind them.

  “Now, who are you?” she asked Sarah.

  Sarah smiled. “Mrs. Brandt.”

  Emma apparently saw no reason to acknowledge the introduction. She was a striking woman, and Sarah could see why she had caught Wilbanks’s eye, even from the chorus. She’d pulled her dark hair up into a sloppy Gibson Girl knot, but it shone in the fading sunlight like a raven’s wing. Her dark hair contrasted well with her milky skin, still smooth and clear. She wore a dress of deep burgundy, which might be the “red” dress Carrie had described. It hugged her womanly curves. Her large, dark eyes probably looked mysterious when she wanted them to. Right now they just looked angry.

  “Let’s sit down,” Malloy said. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

  Malloy and Sarah sat together on the sofa, and Emma took an overstuffed chair opposite them. Sarah noticed stuffing coming out of one of the arms.

  “Where’s Catherine?” Emma asked when they were seated. “Mrs. Dugan said you know where she is.”

  Sarah glanced at Malloy, who said, “Mrs. Dugan is the landlady.” To Miss Hardy, he said, “I do know where she is.”

  “Then give her to me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’m her mother!”

  Sarah felt the fury rise up in her like a tidal wave. “And what kind of mother goes off and leaves her child for a year without a thought?”

  “I thought of her! I thought of her all the time I was gone!”

  “And did you wonder where she was and what she was doing?”

  “She was with Anne! I left her with Anne.”

  “Miss Hardy,” Malloy said in that infuriating voice men use when they think women need to be calmed down. “We know you left her with Anne Murphy. Do you know that Miss Murphy was murdered?”

  “Of course I know it! Mrs. Dugan told me first thing when I got here this afternoon. Anne was supposed to meet me with Catherine. So where is my child?”

  “She’s safe,” Sarah said.

  “I should hope so. I was furious when I found out Annie had left her at some
settlement house, like she was an orphan or something. Just tell me where she is and I’ll go get her.”

  “What will you do when you get her?” Malloy asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. What are your plans for Catherine’s future?”

  “Her future is she’ll live with me and grow up. What other plans do I need?”

  “I’d be interested in how you plan to take care of her if you’re an actress,” Sarah said.

  “That’s none of your affair. I’m her mother, and she belongs with me.”

  “Does she?” Malloy asked. “And how does Mr. Vaughn feel about raising somebody else’s child?”

  Her shock was almost comical, but Sarah didn’t feel much like laughing. “What does that mean?”

  “Stop asking me what things mean, Miss Hardy, when you know perfectly well what they mean. I know about Parnell Vaughn and how you were living with him when David Wilbanks was paying Mrs. Dugan for you to live here.”

  “I never!”

  “Mrs. Dugan told me everything, so don’t bother to deny it. Now what are you and Vaughn planning to do with the child when you get her? Were you going to extort money from Wilbanks for her, by chance?”

  “I . . . I don’t know what extort means,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap.

  “Were you going to ask Wilbanks to give you money in exchange for the child?” he said with elaborate patience.

  “He wants her, I know. Why shouldn’t I get something out of it? I gave up my career to have her. He owes me something, doesn’t he?”

  Any lingering sympathy she might have felt for Emma Hardy evaporated. “Whose idea was that?” Sarah asked.

  Emma glared at Sarah. “It wasn’t nobody’s idea. It’s just the right thing to do.”

  “We’re not going to tell you where Catherine is,” Malloy said.

  The color bloomed in her cheeks. “You can’t do that! She’s my flesh and blood. You can’t keep her away from me!” She turned her fury on Sarah, but before she could utter a word, her eyes widened in surprise. “You! Annie said some rich woman who volunteered at the Mission took Catherine. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  Sarah didn’t answer, but it was no use. She felt the heat in her cheeks, and she knew Emma saw the truth on her face.

  “Brandt, that’s your name. That’s what you said. You have Catherine, and I know your name. It shouldn’t be too hard to find her now.”

  “I don’t have her anymore,” Sarah said. “I sent her someplace safe.”

  “That’s easy to say, isn’t it? You won’t mind if I come to your house and look anyway, will you?”

  “Miss Hardy,” Malloy said, startling both of them back to the present. “Did you forget that Anne Murphy was murdered?”

  Her confidence vanished. Her gaze shifted from Malloy to Sarah and back to Malloy again, as if trying to judge which one was the more formidable opponent. “No, I didn’t forget. How could I?”

  “And don’t you wonder who killed her?”

  “What difference does it make who killed her? It’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The color had drained from her face, and she started twisting her hands again. “Why should it?”

  Sarah wanted to slap her. “Because the reason Miss Murphy left Catherine at the Mission in the first place was because she was afraid someone would harm her.”

  “Who would want to hurt a child?” she asked.

  “Maybe the same person you were afraid was going to hurt you when you left town a year ago,” Malloy said.

  She stared back at them for a long moment, as if trying to figure out what to say. For an actress, she wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions, and Sarah could easily see how terrified she was, but not of them. “I don’t know who you could mean. Nobody ever wished me any harm.”

  “Then why did you run away?” Sarah asked.

  “I didn’t run away. Whoever told you a thing like that? I just got a chance to be in a play and I took it. I was tired of living in that old house and I was tired of Wilbanks telling me what to do all the time, so I left. I wanted to have some fun.” She tried to smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes.

  “And you left your child with Miss Murphy.”

  “She loves little Catherine,” Emma said, then frowned. “I mean she loved her. Half the time, I think Catherine thought Annie was her mother.” She smiled as if that were a joke, but nobody smiled back.

  “Let me get this straight,” Malloy said. “Miss Murphy thinks you left town because you thought you were in danger. Then she hides Catherine at the Mission because she thinks the child might be in danger. For nearly a year, she lives in the same boardinghouse where you and she had lived, and nobody bothers her. But then she gets a couple letters from you telling her you’re going to meet up with her and the child, and then suddenly, somebody kills her. Why do you think that happened, Miss Hardy?”

  “How should I know? I hadn’t seen her for nearly a year. Anything could’ve happened. Maybe she offended somebody. Maybe she got in trouble with somebody.”

  “A dresser?” Sarah said, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “What could she have done to make someone want to kill her?”

  “I don’t know! I told you, I hadn’t seen her for almost a year.”

  “Until you got back to New York and went looking for her. What did you say when she told you she’d lost Catherine?”

  “I didn’t say anything because I never saw Annie. This morning I went to the boardinghouse where she’d told me to meet her, but they said she wasn’t there, so I come here to see if Mrs. Dugan knows where she is. She tells me Annie is dead and you’ve got Catherine. That’s all I know!”

  “I think you know at least one other thing,” Malloy said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Where Parnell Vaughn is.”

  “And what if I do?”

  “Then you’d better tell me so I don’t have to take you down to Police Headquarters and lock you up for the night.”

  “The devil, you say!”

  “There’s no need to swear, Miss Hardy. Just tell me where Vaughn is.”

  Now she really looked frightened. “What do you want with him? He doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

  “I’d like to find that out for myself. Otherwise, I saw a beat cop on the corner. I’ll just have him take you in and lock you up until I have time to get back there and ask you again. I’m pretty busy, so that won’t be until tomorrow, maybe even the next day, so—”

  “He’s at the La Pierre Hotel. That’s where we’re staying.” The look she gave Malloy could have drawn blood, but he merely smiled slightly.

  “Thank you for your help, Miss Hardy.”

  “So what am I supposed to do about my daughter? When will I get her back?”

  “I thought you didn’t want her back,” Malloy said.

  “I never said that!”

  “Oh, I guess you’re right. You didn’t say that. In fact, you’re eager to get her back so you can sell her to her father.”

  She looked as if she wanted to scratch Malloy’s eyes out, but Sarah had had enough of her theatrics. “Have you seen Mr. Wilbanks since you’ve gotten back to the city?”

  “How could I? I only got back yesterday.”

  “Really? Where have you been for the past week?”

  “The past week? What do you mean?”

  “The week since your play closed in Philadelphia.”

  “How did you know that?”

  Sarah gave up and turned to Malloy for assistance.

  “We know your play closed over a week ago, Miss Hardy,” he said. “I thought you were in a hurry to see your daughter, so why did it take you so long to come looking for her?”

  “I . . . Parnell. That’s it. He was sick. We had to stay in Philadelphia until he could travel. He was worn out from the tour. That’s hard work, going from town to town for months on end, and Parn
ell doesn’t have a strong constitution.”

  Sarah wondered if Malloy could check on how long they’d been in the city. Certainly, the La Pierre Hotel could tell him when Vaughn and Emma had checked in.

  “I’m going to pay Mr. Vaughn a visit,” Malloy said. “The two of you can try to hide or even leave town if you want to, but if you do, you’ll never see your daughter again. Oh, and did we mention to you that Mr. Wilbanks is dying?”

  Plainly, she’d had no idea. “Dying? What do you mean, dying? He was perfectly fine the last time I saw him.”

  “That was a year ago,” Sarah said. “A lot can happen, and Mr. Wilbanks only has a few months left.”

  “So if you hope to get anything out of him, you’ll need to be quick,” Malloy added with another grin.

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “Why would we lie to you?” Malloy asked. “It’s easy enough to check. Just go see him. I’m sure his son would be glad for you to visit him.”

  Once again, the color drained from her face, and Sarah thought they had found the person who had frightened Emma Hardy off in the first place. “Maybe I will,” she said.

  * * *

  FRANK CHECKED HIS WATCH AS THEY LEFT THE BOARDINGHOUSE. “We still have a couple hours before we have to meet your parents. I’d like to see Parnell Vaughn before Emma has a chance to tell him what to say to us.”

  “That’s probably a good idea. Do you know where this hotel is?”

  “Yes, and it’s not a place I can take you. I also want to see this Vaughn fellow alone.”

  “In case you need to frighten him,” she said.

  He saw no judgment in her eyes, but he still hated that she knew he sometimes had to use violence in his job. “I’ll walk you out to Broadway so you can get a cab home.”

  They both knew a woman alone would have a difficult time hailing a cab, so she didn’t make any silly protests.

  “Your mother was right,” she said as they walked. “Emma Hardy doesn’t deserve Catherine. She didn’t even deny that she was going to sell her to Wilbanks.”

  “There’s a lot worse things she could have done with her, you know.”