The Miser of Cherry Hill

by Scott Mackay

  The best method, I thought, given that she and I had drawn a line in our last interview, and that she had told me in no uncertain terms to go away, was to chip around the edges – the edges being the people closest to her.

  This meant Billy Fray.

  And also Daisy Pond.

  With Billy denying everything, and not going anywhere anyway because he was still under arrest and in jail for punching the sheriff in the face, I thought I might first try my luck with Daisy.

  So I rode up to Finch Street and interviewed the woman who, according to Olive Wade, was as much in love with Billy Fray as Marigold was, hoping she might have something useful to offer as a witness.

  Miss Pond’s defining physical attribute was her smallness – she was no more than four feet six inches tall, slim, athletic-looking, with the physique of a petite gymnast. She had curly blonde hair. We sat in the parlor of her Finch Street home. Her eyes, which were the darkest and strangest blue I’d ever seen, revealed a deep maturity and intelligence, but also a wariness; I understood that she was a young woman who would choose her words carefully.

  When I asked about Marigold, she prevaricated politely. ‘Is it necessary I speak to you about her, Dr Deacon? Am I obligated by law?’

  I paused, surmising in her skilful deflection an intent to protect her friend. I side-stepped with a parry meant to get us beyond that. ‘We’ve learned that Marigold never went to Buffalo for her convalescence back in November, Daisy. We know she came here.’ I pulled out my deputy’s badge and put it on the table. ‘As for the law, I always find it’s better to cooperate with a deputy or a sheriff, especially where a murder is concerned.’

  She didn’t become flustered. Rather she grew extremely pale, and for several moments I thought she might faint. She looked out the window, where servants from the various houses across the street were digging out against the continuing snowfall. I noted an increase in her respiration rate as she struggled to regain herself.

  She turned to me. ‘I’m desperately frightened of Miss Reynolds, Dr Deacon, that’s all. She’s not like other girls. We speak of the law. Miss Reynolds has her own laws. I’ve been subjected to them ever since I’ve known her.’ Her strange blue eyes formed an oblique appeal. ‘Must I really utter anything of an indiscreet nature about Miss Reynolds? I’m afraid it might get back to her.’

  I saw now that she was asking for my tact. ‘Miss Pond, think of this as a confidential tête-à-tête.’

  She took a deep breath, sighed, and once more looked out the window. Then she stared at me. At last she pulled her sleeve back. I saw a scar, round, and about the diameter of a nickel.

  ‘She did this to me with one of her father’s cigars. I love her dearly, but she made me submit to this. As punishment.’

  I leaned forward and examined the scar. I grew alarmed. It looked fresh, still had a pink tinge. ‘Punishment for what?’

  ‘I deserved it. I crossed her.’

  ‘Goodness gracious. And how did you cross her?’

  Her voice became steadier. ‘I told her she didn’t love Billy Fray the way she should.’ A self-effacing grin came to her face. ‘And that’s all I’m going to say on the subject of Billy Fray. Any more and I’m sure to cry.’

  ‘But you see, Miss Pond, this is exactly what I’m trying to understand. To what degree Miss Reynolds has feelings for Mr Fray.’

  Daisy smiled but it was a smile fraught with an effort to contain her emotions. ‘You would think they would be strong, wouldn’t you, Dr Deacon? After all, she burned me with her father’s cigar when I told her they weren’t.’

  ‘She doesn’t love Mr Fray?’

  ‘She’s extremely good at getting people to do the things she wants. She got me to submit to this burn. As for Billy, she needed someone to protect her against her stepfather, that’s all. And so she got Billy to do that for her. Mr Purcell’s a brute, and quite free with his hands.’ I imagined this was an allusion to her own violent episode with Mr Purcell. ‘She needed protection. And so she found the biggest, strongest man around, captivated him, and further cemented his loyalty by sharing a bed with him. You of course know about her pregnancy, being her physician, but perhaps what you didn’t know was that the last thing Marigold ever wanted was Billy’s child.’

  Here was a discrepancy I had to clarify. ‘Miss Wade tells me that the child was the most important thing in the world to Marigold. Now you’re telling me it wasn’t. I don’t know who I should believe.’

  Daisy shook her head, a preoccupied look coming to her eyes. Assuming I had some familiarity with the subject, she said, ‘Going out to the reserve to see Talbert Two-Arrows was Marigold’s idea, not her father’s, much as you might have heard otherwise.’

  This indeed was a revelation. ‘But I understand you yourself told Miss Wade that her stepfather was responsible for that. Now you’re changing your story?’

  Her eyelids fluttered. ‘Yes. Only because Marigold changed hers.’

  I pondered this intelligence. ‘Does she change her story often?’

  ‘Not often. Only when it suits her.’

  I returned to the previous matter. ‘Why would Marigold need protection from her stepfather?’

  Daisy arched her brow. ‘She’s a grown woman now, Dr Deacon. The week before he was murdered, Mr Purcell came to her bedroom on three different occasions. Luckily, Billy was there. Billy has his uses, you see? And so I was quite right in telling her she didn’t love him the way she should. He’s nothing but a sentinel to her.’

  I looked out the window where the snow was mounded up in drifts on the front lawn, and where a sleigh went by on Finch Street with a Christmas tree bundled on its back.

  ‘I understand you were struck by the old man in October.’

  She seemed caught of guard that I should know this. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that you wanted to press charges.’

  Anger deepened the porcelain shades of her complexion to a more sanguine hue. ‘And I would have gone ahead if my father hadn’t stopped me. Mr Purcell was offering the cement works a lucrative contract. He threatened to cancel it if I didn’t withdraw.’

  I nodded. ‘That seems to be his modus operandi, doesn’t it?’

  But she was back to Billy. ‘Billy thinks Marigold loves him. And she cultivates the misconception any way she can.’

  I accelerated the interview. ‘Mightn’t it be possible that Miss Reynolds was the one who killed her stepfather?’

  I thought I might entirely unseat her with this last parry. But I didn’t. She had to think about it, as if, after all, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. But finally, she dismissed the notion. ‘I should hardly think my best friend is a murderer.’

  ‘By your account, she heartlessly disposed of an infant child.’

  Her eyes filled with pain. ‘Billy was crushed.’

  It was always back to Billy; I could see she was quite beside herself with love for the man.

  ‘The fatal shot appears to have come from the hotel roof. Does Marigold have a key to the Grand’s service entrance?’

  Daisy looked up, focused, quickly understood my train of thought, and artlessly offered what she knew. ‘Her stepfather has all the keys on hooks in his home office. She wouldn’t need her own key. She would just get his.’

  ‘And were you with Miss Reynolds on the night her stepfather was murdered?’

  ‘No, sir. I was here at home by myself.’

  ‘So you really don’t know if Marigold murdered her stepfather or not.’

  She grew thoughtful. ‘No, doctor, I suppose I don’t.’

  ‘Miss Winters, you’ve been lying to me.’

  I stood at the servants’ entrance behind the Purcell mansion.

  Marigold’s maid looked at me with wide nervous eyes. ‘About what, sir?’

  Over in the garage, Leach tinkered with Mr Purcell’s motorcar, a Curved Dash Oldsmobile. Though popular, they seemed temperamental contraptions, needing a lot of attention.

  ‘You’
re afraid of your mistress. I know the way she can be. You listen for her movements. Even when you’re in bed, you’re so afraid of her that you keep track of her constantly. Tell me what really happened here on the night of your master’s murder.’ Frightened as she was, I decided I must scare her even more. ‘I will put you in jail if you don’t.’

  Her eyes got even wider, and filled with tears.

  I hated to browbeat the poor girl this way, especially as she was as innocent as the fresh-fallen snow around us, but I was desperate to conclude this matter before Christmas so I could commence repairs on perhaps the irreparable mess I had made with Olive Wade.

  She looked away, gazing at Mr Leach, her breath frosting over in the cold, then turned back to me, her lips trembling.

  ‘Sir, I will tell you everything. Just don’t put me in jail. And please don’t let Miss Reynolds find out.’

  I softened my tone. ‘There, there, Miss Winters. If you cooperate with the Sheriff’s Office, you’ll have nothing to worry about. But you can’t be evasive, or try to protect your mistress. I already know she left the house that night, and that you undoubtedly heard her.’ I took the clout tack out of my pocket and showed it to her. ‘This tack tells me she was downtown on the night your master was murdered.’ I gave her the details in regard to the tack. ‘In our last interview, you said she got a telephone call at eight forty-five. Is this true? Or was that a lie too?’

  She began to tremble. ‘No, sir. I have such a hard time making up stories. You asked me if anything else unusual happened that night and I couldn’t think of what to say. So that part is true.’

  I took a moment to digest this. ‘And at what time after the telephone call did your mistress leave the house?’

  She fretted for a few more seconds, looking undecided, then finally said, ‘Remember how I told you all the servants had gone to bed, and that Miss Marigold must have answered the telephone call?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I was actually attending to Miss Marigold’s bath when the telephone rang.’

  ‘She was in the bath?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then who answered the telephone?’

  ‘That would have been Miss Pond.’

  ‘Daisy Pond was here?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘She told me she was at home.’

  ‘No, sir, she was here.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because my father is an employee at Mr Pond’s cement works. I didn’t want to stir things up and maybe cost him his job.’

  I paused to puzzle over why Miss Pond would have lied to me about her presence here on the night of the murder. Maybe she was trying to protect Marigold after all. ‘And so Daisy answered the phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what did she do once she was finished with the call?’

  ‘She came into the bathroom. She was flustered. She said the call was from Billy Fray, and that he was down at the Grand Hotel.’

  At first unsure if the telephone call was significant, I now saw that it constituted a break in the case. ‘The call was from Billy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Miss Marigold relieved me of my duties and told me to go to my room. So I left, but I was nervous because I knew something wasn’t right.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I went downstairs to the kitchen, and I listened. And a few minutes later, Miss Pond came running down the stairs. At first I thought she was going to leave but then I heard her cranking the telephone. I thought she was going to call Billy back. But she wasn’t. I heard her talking to Viola White, the operator. She was trying to get through to the Sheriff’s Office, but Miss White told her the line was in use.’

  ‘The Sheriff’s Office?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I pondered. Stanley had been in West Shelby that night. I had been at home. Ernie Mulroy had been manning the telephone; I knew he tended to talk to his sweetheart at length. ‘And when she couldn’t get through to the Sheriff’s Office, what did she do?’

  ‘It was strange, really. She went from room to room. Like she was looking for something. I finally heard her leave and ride away on her bicycle. I was in the kitchen by myself when five minutes later I heard Miss Reynolds come down the stairs.’

  ‘And did she leave as well?’

  The maid motioned at the tack in my hand. ‘Yes.’

  I paused as I went through the ramifications of this. ‘So first Daisy, then five minutes later, your mistress.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And when did your mistress come home?’

  Flora thought for a few seconds. ‘Around nine thirty. I went to see if she wanted anything, and she said she was fine, so I retired.’ She grew frantic again. ‘Please don’t tell Miss Marigold I told you anything.’

  ‘And what was Miss Marigold’s demeanor upon her return?’

  Flora squinted. ‘She was . . . agitated, sir. Pacing back and forth, rubbing her hands again and again. I could see she certainly had no immediate plans for getting herself to bed.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  Armed with accounts by Daisy and Flora, I resolved to speak to Marigold in person, despite our unamicable parting last time.

  Flora facilitated this for me, leading me from the servant’s entrance in through the kitchen, and finally into the main part of the house.

  I soon found myself again admitted to the young woman’s painting studio.

  Marigold continued to paint her winter scene: snow-covered cherry trees by the fountain. The curtains on the nearest French door were pulled wide open so she could see her subject outside.

  I inspected the painting. ‘You’re quite good.’

  She nodded. ‘My mother had me study with James Tissot. You’ve seen the Tissot in the front hall?’

  ‘Of your mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have.’

  She nodded, then motioned at her winter scene. ‘I plan to paint in the modern style soon. Academy painting hardly reflects our new century, does it, Dr Deacon? This will be the last realistic thing I do. In spring, I move to Paris, where I’ll study at École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts.’

  I couldn’t help wondering if she would be spending spring in prison. ‘Marvellous.’

  ‘I’m free now. My stepfather’s dead. I can do whatever I want. And by the way, I apologize if I was abrupt the last time we spoke.’

  ‘No apology necessary.’ I edged toward the subject of my inquiry gently. ‘I suppose your new life has no place in it for Billy Fray?’

  She stopped painting and great sadness came to her eyes. ‘I will miss him.’

  I took out the clout tack and held it up. ‘Do you know what this is, Miss Reynolds?’

  She studied the object, still seeming to be partially preoccupied with Billy. ‘A nail or a tack.’

  ‘Quite right. But in this particular instance, you’ll be more interested to learn what the tack represents.’

  Her manner now grew cautious. ‘I know it can’t pertain to my recent convalescence. So it must have something to do with the other concern you have with me.’

  ‘The carpenters at Flannigan’s Stationery nailed up a tarpaulin when they were ripping down the old faÇade. Snow was on the way and they wanted to protect the interior of the shop. All that paper. All those envelopes. This was the afternoon before your stepfather was murdered. They spilled some tacks on to the road, including this one. We got just a light dusting and it melted by evening. The next morning the carpenters took the tarp down. As for the spilled tacks, some were left for twenty-four hours before they cleaned everything up. But this tack they didn’t clean up. That’s because someone stepped on it and it got stuck in their boot.’

  She put her paintbrush down. In a forlorn tone, she said, ‘This must be some new evidence you have against my Billy.’

  I took a few steps forward, momentarily confused that she didn’t at first understand the i
mplications of what I was saying. ‘I’m not here about Billy, Marigold. I’m here about you.’ I gave her a moment to orient herself. ‘I found this tack in the heel of your own boot. Which means you were in the vicinity of the Grand Hotel on the day – possibly the night – of your stepfather’s murder, not in a hospital in Buffalo. You might as well not lie to me anymore. The hospital’s confirmed you were never there.’

  Her lips shifted and her face reddened as she comprehended what I was getting at. ‘Doctor, if you think I had anything to do with my stepfather’s murder, then perhaps your powers of deduction aren’t as great as I thought they were.’

  ‘Come, now, Miss Reynolds. You have more than ample motivation for wanting your stepfather dead, not only because he swindled your money into a Swiss bank account but also because he had begun coming to your bedroom. I know that you got a telephone call around eight forty-five on the night of the murder, and that Miss Pond was the one who took it for you, and that the call was from Billy, and he was down at the hotel, and that shortly after, Daisy left, then you left.’

  ‘But doctor, I’m confused. If you say I got a call from Billy from down at the hotel, doesn’t that answer your question? Billy was down at the hotel. So who else could it be?’

  ‘You lied to me about your admission to Sisters of Charity, and I found this tack in your boot, and yes, I know Billy was there, but the crime scene is a little more complicated than you might think, as it appears you were there too. So I ask you, where did you go once you finished with the telephone call?’

  ‘Who told you I left the house?’

  ‘That, my dear, will remain confidential.’

  She stared at me. But then she looked away, and the weight of everything appeared to induce a nullifying, if momentary, pensiveness in my suspect. Then a grin came to her face, but it was a fragile one, and I saw she was on the cusp of a breakdown. When she spoke next, her voice was tremulous.

  ‘It wasn’t I who killed my stepfather, much as I would have liked to. You must think that reprehensible, but if you knew of my stepfather’s cruelty, and of the way he purposely liked to make people miserable, you might better understand how perfectly ordinary people like my friends and I could begin to talk about murder.’ She hesitated; her lips came together as if against a bitter bile. ‘In fact, I was the one who tried to stop my stepfather’s murder. I don’t know why. I hate the man.’