Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  “What kind of business was your husband in, Mrs. Pollock?”

  “I don’t know. He said it was too complicated for me to understand, and he never discussed business in front of me. I only know he was very successful and that his clients were very happy.”

  Maeve wondered how happy they were going to be when they found out there was no railroad in Panama. “What about Truett?” she asked.

  Una looked at her in surprise again. She was probably trying to forget Maeve was there. “I can’t imagine Mr. Truett would have any reason to harm Randolph.”

  “Who is this Truett?” Nicholson asked.

  “A business associate of my husband’s,” Una said sweetly. Plainly, someone as pretty as she could know nothing of business.

  “And how about Adam Yorke?” Maeve asked when Una would have dismissed her again.

  “Who?” Una asked, but she didn’t fool Maeve. She knew who he was, all right.

  “The brother of Pollock’s first wife,” Maeve explained cheerfully.

  “First wife?” Mrs. O’Neill cried. “Una is his first wife.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Maeve said. “Mr. Yorke’s sister Cecelia was married to Pollock before she disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” Nicholson asked, his broad face turning a dangerous shade of red.

  “I mean Pollock claims she died, but he never notified the family or put it in the newspapers, and he wouldn’t say where she’s buried either.”

  “She died in childbirth,” Una said. “Randolph told me all about it. But that was years ago. Is this Mr. Yorke the man who came to see Randolph the other day?”

  Maeve met her gaze with interest. “Yes. Mr. Yorke called on your husband shortly before he was killed. Could it have been the day he died?” she added, wondering if Una would confirm it was the very same day.

  Una furrowed her brow. “Oh my, I do remember he called, but was it that day? Everything is so muddled. But it must have been! This Mr. Yorke must be the person the servants heard Randolph arguing with that morning!”

  Was it true? Could Yorke have really been there that morning? And if the servants could confirm it, maybe he really was the one who had killed Pollock.

  “Well, now, that’s good news,” Nicholson said. “We’ll have to look into this Mr. Yorke.”

  “Oh yes,” Mrs. O’Neill said with forced enthusiasm. “I’m sure he’s the one who killed poor Mr. Pollock.”

  “Whether he is or not is not my concern,” Nicholson said. “But having someone else we can tell the jurors about, somebody who was in the house and who had a reason to hate Pollock, well, that’s all we need to get Mrs. Pollock acquitted.”

  “But I don’t want to go to trial at all,” Una said.

  “Then find out who really killed your husband,” Nicholson said.

  * * *

  “I don’t like that man,” Una said when they were on the sidewalk outside.

  “He isn’t very nice,” her mother agreed, “but I’m told he’s the best attorney in the city.”

  “If he was, I would be free now.”

  “At least you’re not in jail anymore,” Maeve reminded her. “Not many accused killers get out on bond.”

  Una sighed. “I’d like to go home now.”

  “Of course you would, dear,” her mother said. “I’ll be so happy to have you back with me again. It will be just like before.”

  Una’s lovely face crinkled in distaste. “I’m not going home with you. I’m going to my own home.”

  Even Maeve was surprised at that. “You want to go back to the house where your husband was murdered?”

  “It’s my home. Randolph bought it for me, and he’d want me to be happy there.”

  From what she knew about Randolph, Maeve doubted that very much, but she said, “I guess it’s a good thing we made the servants stay, then.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean they wanted to leave, so we were going to let them go and close up the house.”

  Now Una really was angry, although she knew how to control it pretty well. Except for the red blotches on her cheeks and the icy sparkle in her eyes, Maeve could hardly tell at all. “Who are you to make decisions about my house and my servants?”

  “We just thought it was for the best, with you, uh, gone, and everything,” her mother hastily explained. “Who would pay them, after all?”

  “I’ll pay them,” Una said. “I need a cab.” She looked around.

  “Do you have money to pay for one?” Maeve asked, certain she didn’t.

  Una frowned. “Give me some money,” she told her mother.

  “Paying your bail took almost everything I had,” her mother said, digging in her purse. “I only have a few dollars left.”

  “You won’t need that. You can walk home from here.” Una snatched the bills from her mother’s unresisting fingers.

  So much for the “good girl” Mrs. O’Neill had described to Maeve that first day.

  “Then you probably want to stop and pick up your trunk on the way,” Maeve said.

  “What do you mean?” Una asked suspiciously.

  “I mean we packed up all your belongings, and I took them home with me for safekeeping, because we were planning to close up your house. You and I can share a cab and you can drop me off at my house and pick up your trunk on your way.”

  Una plainly didn’t care for this arrangement at all, but she obviously had no choice. She stepped to the curb and hailed a cab with such ease that Maeve understood instantly what an advantage true beauty really was.

  Una was climbing into the cab when her mother hurried over. “Don’t forget your things,” Mrs. O’Neill called, holding up the bundle of Una’s belongings that she had brought over from the jail.

  Una took it from her without a word and found her seat in the cab.

  “I’ll keep you informed of what happens,” Maeve told Mrs. O’Neill.

  “Thank you for all your help, Miss Smith,” she said, her gaze darting nervously to Una in the cab. “I guess I can come to visit you now,” she told her daughter.

  “Suit yourself,” Una replied, not even glancing her way.

  Maeve climbed into the cab and gave the driver the address on Bank Street. Then she settled back against the seat and looked over at her companion in the snug confines of the cab.

  Una no longer looked like the sweet young thing who had charmed the judge. Her glare was sharp enough to draw blood. “Who are you?”

  “I told you, your mother hired me to help. I work for a detective agency.” Or at least she would when Frank and Sarah Malloy got back from their honeymoon and opened it.

  “How did my mother hire a detective agency? She doesn’t have any money.”

  If she knew that, didn’t Una wonder how her mother had paid her bail? “We worked it out. Your mother is good friends with the owner’s mother.”

  She gave an unladylike snort. “Charity, then. Well, I don’t need your charity, and I don’t need a detective agency.”

  “Not even if we’re trying to find out who really killed your husband?”

  She gave Maeve a long, considering look as the cab made its weary way through the clogged city streets. At last she said, “I thought you decided that fellow killed Randolph. What’s his name, Cecelia’s brother?”

  “Mr. Yorke,” Maeve supplied. “I think we just suggested that he might have. He admits he was there, which seems odd if he really is the killer, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the killer should claim he wasn’t there at all.”

  “But if people know he was, it’s foolish to claim he wasn’t.”

  Maeve had to admit, she had a point. Una couldn’t claim she wasn’t there, of course. She could only claim she didn’t remember what happened, which saved her from rememberi
ng that she killed her husband. If, of course, she did kill him. Or maybe she didn’t want to remember who actually killed him, which was equally interesting. “We were going to close the house because there was no money to pay your servants. How will you keep the place going without your husband?”

  Una’s expression gave nothing away. “That’s really none of your business, but I’ll manage.”

  Which meant that Una probably knew about the money in Pollock’s safe. And if she did, was that another reason to kill a husband who regularly beat her?

  Of course it was.

  Maeve knew from growing up in the tenements that most women stayed with abusive husbands because they needed the man to support them and their children. Even childless, Una probably would have been afraid to leave Pollock. Could she have gone back to her job at the cigar store or even the one at the factory? Probably not. No one wanted married women in those jobs. She would have had to bear the shame of a failed marriage, too. And that’s assuming Pollock allowed her to leave him in the first place. A husband could even get the law to bring a runaway wife home, if he wanted to.

  Maeve looked at the smug smile on Una’s lovely face and decided she wouldn’t mention that the safe in Pollock’s office was now empty. That money probably didn’t belong to Pollock anyway, so it was just as well for Una to think it had been stolen.

  Una didn’t have much to say as the cab made its way to Bank Street. She perked up a bit when they stopped at the Malloy house, however. Even though it wasn’t a fashionable neighborhood, the house itself was rather impressive. “You live here?”

  “Yes,” Maeve said, offering no other explanation. She asked the cab driver to fetch Una’s trunk from the front hallway, but she didn’t invite Una inside to warm up while he did it. Maybe she would have felt kinder if Una hadn’t taken her mother’s last cent for cab fare. She tipped the driver generously when he’d wrestled the trunk into the cab.

  “I trust I’ll find all of my belongings in the trunk,” Una said with what she must have thought was a look of warning.

  Maeve smiled, even though Una had just accused her of being a thief. “Don’t you remember how I got your things back for you when you were in the Tombs?”

  “Oh yes, thank you for that.” She didn’t sound particularly grateful, but Maeve didn’t challenge her. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Smith. Perhaps we’ll encounter one another again sometime.”

  “Perhaps we will,” Maeve said, mocking her, although Una didn’t seem to notice.

  Maeve stood on the front porch and watched the cab drive away. Now that she thought about it, someone should really be there to see Una’s reaction when she discovered the break-in and the missing money, assuming she knew about the money in the first place. Maeve realized she should have offered to deliver the trunk instead of letting Una get it herself, but it was too late now. So who could break the news about the robbery instead?

  Gino would go to the house this evening unless he stopped at the Malloy house first and found out Una had been released. But that would be too late to get her reaction. No, someone should be at the house to greet her when she arrived, and Maeve knew just who that should be.

  * * *

  “If I hadn’t been at home when Maeve telephoned, would you have come here alone?” Felix asked as they made their way up the front steps at the Pollock house.

  Elizabeth smiled innocently. “Of course not, dear. I would have telephoned you to come home, just as I did when Mr. Truett came to call.”

  He didn’t look like he believed that, but he was too gentlemanly to call her a liar. Instead he gave the brass knocker a resounding thump. The door opened almost instantly, and the maid greeted them with a cautious smile.

  “Good afternoon to you both. Please, come in.”

  “Good afternoon,” Elizabeth said. “Hattie, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to see you folks. I recognized your carriage right off. Did you want to speak to all of us?” Her hopeful smile reminded Elizabeth that she had promised to provide them with letters of reference and pay their wages so they could leave.

  “Yes, but not for the reason you might think. I do have some good news for you, though.” At least she hoped it was good news.

  After some discussion about where they should meet, since the servants didn’t like going into the parlor anymore and Mr. Pollock’s office was still a mess, Hattie showed them to the dining room and went to fetch the rest of the servants.

  “Do you really think they’ll be happy to hear their mistress is coming home?” Felix asked, strolling around the room to examine the furnishings.

  “I think it will be informative to see their reactions, at least. This is a pleasant room.”

  The table was large enough to seat a dozen people, although the thin layer of dust on its bare surface gave evidence that it hadn’t been used in a while. A matching sideboard and glass-fronted cabinet sat against the walls. Dishes and crystal in the cabinet glittered in the light from the electric chandelier. Pale winter sunlight filtered through the lace curtains that lined the dark blue velvet drapes on the tall windows. When she looked out, Elizabeth recognized that the lace was as much to block the view of the small, weedy yard and the alley behind the house as it was to keep curious eyes from looking in.

  After a few minutes, the servants filed in. Elizabeth had almost forgotten about the boot boy, Eddie. He looked around as if he expected to see someone else in the room, and frowned when he realized it was only her and Felix.

  “Is this everyone?” Elizabeth asked, thinking there should be more.

  “All but Jane,” Hattie said. “She left. Snuck away this morning. Took all her things with her.”

  Elizabeth supposed she couldn’t blame the poor girl, although she must have been desperate indeed if she left without her pay and a reference.

  The remaining servants huddled together uncertainly just inside the door. She and Felix moved closer, but that just seemed to make them more nervous.

  Felix cleared his throat. “Mrs. Decker and I just wanted you to know that Mrs. Pollock has been released from jail after paying her bond. She’ll be arriving here shortly.”

  The two women weren’t sure if this was good news or not, but the boy obviously thought so. He broke into a huge grin.

  “She’s coming to stay, then?” Hattie asked.

  “That’s my understanding,” Elizabeth said.

  “At least for the time being,” Felix added.

  “But her clothes is all gone,” the cook said. “That girl took them.”

  “I believe Mrs. Pollock has retrieved her trunk and is bringing it with her,” Elizabeth said.

  “So she’s coming home for good?” the boy asked.

  Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Felix. What should they tell them? What was the truth? “She may have to go on trial, but for now, she’ll be here.”

  Only the boy seemed happy. He was probably too young to understand how serious the situation was. Or perhaps he simply admired his mistress so much, he was happy to have her back no matter what the circumstances.

  Elizabeth sent the servants back to their duties, and she and Felix waited in the dining room until someone knocked on the front door less than an hour later. They stepped out into the hallway just as Hattie opened the door to a lovely young woman.

  “Welcome home, missus,” Hattie said.

  “Thank you. It’s good to be here,” she said.

  The other servants had followed Hattie to the door, and Una Pollock stopped to greet them.

  “Oh, Velvet, could you fix me something to eat? I haven’t had a bite all day. Jane . . . Where’s Jane?” she asked with a frown.

  “She gone, missus,” Hattie said. “She left this morning.”

  “What a bother. Oh well. Hattie, my trunk is in the cab. Would you have the driver carry it upstairs? Eddie, it�
��s so nice to see you.” To Elizabeth’s surprise, she touched him lightly on the cheek. Elizabeth couldn’t see his expression, but she imagined he was thrilled by the attention.

  Then Una swept past them, probably intending to head toward the stairs, but she stopped dead when she saw the Deckers waiting for her. Her lovely face creased into a frown. “Who are you?”

  “Felix Decker, at your service, Mrs. Pollock. And this is my wife, Elizabeth.”

  She looked them up and down, silently evaluating them. Elizabeth knew this because she would have done the same thing had she found two strangers unexpectedly in her home. Elizabeth knew exactly what she saw: two perfectly respectable, expensively dressed, well-mannered people. Una’s expression softened from suspicion to caution. “Why are you here?”

  “We’ve been looking after the house while you were gone. Your mother asked for help, you see, and—”

  “Are you private detectives?” Her disbelief was obvious.

  Elizabeth looked at Felix. Where had she gotten that idea?

  “We’re friends of your mother’s,” Felix said, although he hadn’t actually met Mrs. O’Neill yet.

  “When we heard you’d been released, we wanted to be here to greet you in case you had any concerns,” Elizabeth said.

  “Because of what happened,” Felix added.

  “What did happen?” She fluttered her eyes at him in a way Elizabeth recognized. She had used it herself in her younger days when she wanted to charm a man.

  “Perhaps we should show her,” Elizabeth said to break the spell, in case Una really was casting a spell on him.

  “Show me what?”

  “This way, my dear,” Felix said, confirming Elizabeth’s theory about a spell. He gently led her to the office door, which was closed.

  She hung back a bit, obviously reluctant to see whatever he was equally reluctant to show her. Then he stepped forward and opened the door and even Elizabeth gasped at the chaos inside.

  “Good heavens,” Una said, moving past Felix and stepping into the office. “Look at those chairs! They’re ruined.”