Murder on Sisters' Row gm-13

by Victoria Thompson

  “She was giving money to the rescue house. Besides, I don’t think she would have had an opportunity. She only helped with the rescues.” Sarah suddenly remembered Amy’s accusations. “When I was at the Van Orner house on Saturday with Mrs. Spratt-Williams, Amy was hinting that she knew a secret about Mrs. Spratt-Williams, but I don’t think the poor woman even knew what she was talking about.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Spratt-Williams was jealous of Mrs. Van Orner,” Maeve offered.

  Sarah was happy to consider this possibility. “Why?”

  Maeve thought for a moment. “Mrs. Van Orner had a rich husband, and she doesn’t.”

  “Does she have a husband at all?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

  “She’s a widow, and there’s my mother’s memory of a scandal, but we don’t know that for certain. On the other hand, Mrs. Van Orner’s rich husband had a mistress half his age who gave birth to a child when Mrs. Van Orner couldn’t. Does that make you jealous of her?”

  Maeve and Mrs. Ellsworth had to agree that it didn’t.

  “Mrs. Van Orner must’ve had lots of enemies,” Maeve decided after a few minutes of thought. “What about all the madams she rescued prostitutes from?”

  “None of those people were at the rescue house the day she died. They don’t even know where it is.”

  “Could one of them have allowed one of their girls to be rescued so that person would have the opportunity to take revenge on Mrs. Van Orner?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

  “Oh, Mrs. Ellsworth, that’s a wonderful plan!” Maeve exclaimed. “There were other rescued women in the house, weren’t there?”

  “Yes, but both of them were scared witless. Neither of them would have the courage to poison someone like Mrs. Van Orner. The only rescued woman who would is—”

  “Amy,” Maeve supplied.

  “So we’re back to her.” Mrs. Ellsworth sighed.

  “ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME YOU THINK AMY POISONED my wife?” Van Orner asked, none too pleased by the thought.

  “The person who poisoned your wife was in the same house with her sometime shortly before she died. You don’t think it was any of your servants, and neither do I. We know who was at the rescue house. You’ve already told me Miss Yingling and Mrs. Spratt-Williams wouldn’t have done it. Only one person in that house really had anything to gain from your wife’s death.”

  “Amy had nothing to gain!”

  “Mr. Van Orner, I know Amy is living here with you now. I know she was your mistress before she went to Mrs. Walker’s brothel. She has said she knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s flask because you told her about it, and I know she named her baby boy after you.”

  Color flooded Van Orner’s face. “That doesn’t mean she killed Vivian.”

  “I know it doesn’t, but it doesn’t look good for her either. What I need to know from you, Mr. Van Orner, is what you want me to do if she did kill Mrs. Van Orner.”

  Van Orner’s breath caught in his throat, and he let it out in a long sigh. “You have to understand about Amy. She’s had a difficult time of it.”

  Frank made no comment. He just waited.

  “Her father was in business, but he’d invested his savings in a project that went bankrupt, and he blew his brains out because he couldn’t face the shame of it. Her mother tried renting rooms in their house, but then she got consumption. She was going to die and leave Amy alone and penniless, so when one of her husband’s friends offered to take the girl as his mistress, what could she say?”

  Frank could think of a number of things, but he just shrugged, not wanting to interrupt the flow of the story.

  “He paid Mrs. Cunningham’s medical bills and buried her when she died. Then he set Amy up in her own establishment. She was fourteen.”

  Frank thought of the girls even younger than that whom he’d seen sleeping in alleys and servicing bums for a few pennies to keep themselves alive. He had only limited sympathy for Amy.

  “She blossomed into a lovely young woman, and when I saw her one evening at the theater . . . Let’s just say her protector was more anxious for my goodwill than he was for Amy’s company. He was handsomely compensated, and I got Amy.”

  “How did she end up at Mrs. Walker’s?”

  Van Orner didn’t even flinch. “Amy was amusing at first. I enjoyed satisfying her whims, but she was never satisfied. Her parents had spoiled her, you see, and her first protector had done nothing to remedy that. By the time she came to me, she had learned that whining and pouting would get her what she wanted. After a while, I found it more annoying than otherwise.”

  “She named her baby after you.”

  Van Orner shifted uneasily in his chair. “I didn’t know about the child. She claims she didn’t either. I tend to believe her, because if she’d told me, I would never have taken her to Mrs. Walker.”

  “You believe it’s yours, then?”

  “Six months ago, she was still under my protection. I have every reason to believe the child is mine. My wife was barren, Mr. Malloy. Even if I were to remarry, I have no guarantee I’ll ever have another child.”

  “I wonder why Mrs. Walker didn’t let you know about the baby.”

  “I told her I didn’t want to hear anything else about Amy. I assume she took me at my word. She may even have thought I’d sent Amy to her because I didn’t want the child.”

  “Could Amy have thought you’d marry her if your wife was gone?”

  “I certainly never said anything to make her believe that, but you know how women are, Mr. Malloy. One never knows what goes on in the female mind.”

  Frank could attest to that, at least. “You still haven’t told me what you want me to do if I find out Amy poisoned your wife.”

  The sounds of raised voices, women’s voices, and running feet distracted them both. Van Orner rose, his face twisted with fury at the disturbance and ready to call out a reprimand when the parlor door flew open and Miss Yingling burst in.

  “Greg, they’ve kidnapped Amy!”

  Then she saw Frank, but instead of being chagrined, she appealed to him. “Mr. Malloy, you have to do something. Mrs. Walker has kidnapped Amy!”

  AFTER LUNCH, SARAH TOOK A LONG LOOK AT THE CAKE sitting on her kitchen table and made a decision. “I’m going to take this cake to the women at the rescue house.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Maeve said. “Can I go with you?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go there, Maeve.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll be corrupted by the prostitutes?”

  “Of course not, but I don’t want you to be seen there. Someone might get the wrong idea.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they’ll get the wrong idea seeing you there?”

  “Not at all. I’m much too old to be a rescued prostitute.”

  “You’re not that old! You’re not even thirty!”

  “But very few prostitutes live to even be as old as I am.”

  This was the sad truth, and Maeve did not dispute it. Instead she said with a sly grin, “You could be a madam.”

  “No one rescues madams,” Sarah replied tartly.

  They packed up the cake in a market basket, and Sarah set out for the rescue house.

  Lisa Biafore was delighted to see her and even more so when she saw what was in the basket. She called down the other two girls who were still living at the house, and they all enjoyed some coffee and cake. After the other girls had gone back to their rooms, Sarah helped Lisa clean up.

  “I hate to ask you again,” Lisa said as she stacked the dirty plates, “but do you have any idea what’s going to become of us?”

  “Hasn’t Mrs. Spratt-Williams been to see you yet?”

  “No, we haven’t heard a thing. We only have enough food for a couple more days, and just a few dollars of spending money left.”

  How odd, Mrs. Spratt-Williams had said she would visit here yesterday. “I’m going to see Mrs. Spratt-Williams this afternoon. I spoke with her the other day, and she assured me she would
be taking Mrs. Van Orner’s place and making sure things continued on just as they have been.”

  “Oh, dear,” Lisa said, then looked away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Lisa said, hurrying to take the dishes into the kitchen.

  Sarah followed. “Lisa, if something is wrong, please tell me. Maybe I can help.”

  Lisa looked stricken. “You won’t tell anyone you heard this from me, will you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I shouldn’t say anything, I know, but . . . Poor Mrs. Van Orner, she worked so hard to help the women here, and she got very little reward. She deserves better than this.”

  Sarah was confused. “Better than being murdered?”

  “Oh, yes, surely that, but I didn’t mean the way she died. I meant Mrs. Spratt-Williams.”

  “What about her?”

  Lisa set the dishes in the sink, took a deep breath, and turned back to Sarah. “I don’t think Mrs. Van Orner would want Mrs. Spratt-Williams taking her place.”

  “Why not? I thought they were friends.”

  “Oh, they were. Mrs. Spratt-Williams told me time and time again how they’d known each other as girls, but friends don’t always see eye to eye, if you know what I mean.”

  “What didn’t they see eye to eye on?”

  “You promise you won’t tell anyone I told you?”

  “Of course,” Sarah promised.

  “I’ve heard them arguing more than once about how Mrs. Spratt-Williams changes the reports they give to the Charity Organization Society.”

  “Changes them how?”

  “She changes the names of the women we rescue. She’ll change a few letters or something, just to make it different.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “So if the girls ever needed help again, they can go to one of those other charities. They keep a list, you see, and they’re very strict. Once you get help from one of them, you can’t ever go back to any of them.”

  Sarah remembered that Miss Yingling had explained this at her very first visit. She’d thought it horribly unfair then and still did. In fact, she found herself in perfect agreement with Mrs. Spratt-Williams. She was suddenly glad the woman had asked for her help.

  “I suppose Mrs. Van Orner believed in following the rules,” Sarah guessed.

  “Oh, yes. She was a great one for rules. That’s why she wouldn’t like it if Mrs. Spratt-Williams took her place.”

  “I’ll talk to her about it when I meet with her this afternoon.”

  “Oh, please don’t mention my name!”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Mrs. Spratt-Williams is very sensitive. She doesn’t like it when people question her. I didn’t understand that at first,” Lisa confided, “but Mrs. Van Orner explained it to me. Seems like she was very rich once, back when her husband was alive, and people always invited them to parties and such, the way rich people do. Then something happened with her husband. He cheated people in business somehow. I don’t understand how he did it, but lots of people lost all their money. I never had any money to lose, but I guess some people do. There was a big scandal about it, because he cheated them. One man even shot himself over it. Now people don’t invite her to parties anymore, not even after her husband died. Mrs. Van Orner was the only real friend she had left. So be very careful what you say to Mrs. Spratt-Williams. Do you understand?”

  Sarah nodded. She thought she understood a lot more, too. The story about the man shooting himself sounded all too familiar.

  FRANK HELPED MISS YINGLING TO A CHAIR. “CALM DOWN and tell me everything that happened.”

  Miss Yingling sat down and took a deep breath. “I took Amy shopping. She needed some new clothes, so we were going to Macy’s Department Store. Herman took us in the carriage and let us out on a corner. We were walking down the sidewalk toward the entrance to the store when this woman approached us.”

  “Was it Mrs. Walker?” Van Orner asked.

  “Yes. Amy wasn’t afraid of her or anything. In fact, she seemed almost happy to see her. She said something like, ‘Look at me now, Mrs. Walker.’ That’s how I knew who she was.”

  Van Orner had gone to the sideboard, and he brought back a small glass of something and put it in Miss Yingling’s hand. She took a sip before continuing her story.

  “As soon as I saw her, I knew something was wrong. How would a woman like that dare approach us on a public street? But before I could think what to do, a man came up behind us and put his hand over Amy’s mouth.”

  “Did you get a good look at him?”

  “I don’t know. I might recognize him again, but it happened so quickly. I expected Amy to put up a fight, but she almost seemed to go limp.”

  “Did you smell anything strange?” Frank asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Yes, I did.”

  “Chloroform,” Frank said to Van Orner. “What happened next?”

  “Mrs. Walker shoved me out of the way and took Amy’s arm. The man took her other arm and together they walked her across the sidewalk to a waiting carriage. I tried to go after them, but there were so many people on the sidewalk, and they didn’t seem to notice what had happened and they got in my way. They were all so interested in where they were going, and when I started calling for help, they just started walking faster.”

  “What kind of a world do we live in?” Mr. Van Orner muttered.

  “So they put Amy in the carriage?” Malloy asked.

  “Yes, the man almost had to pick her up to get her inside, and then the woman got in and he jumped up into the driver’s seat and drove away. By the time I found a policeman, they were gone, and he said he couldn’t do anything, so I ran all the way home to tell you.”

  She looked like she had, too. She was still breathless, and her face was flushed and her hat crooked.

  “That was the best thing you could’ve done,” Frank assured her. He turned to Van Orner. “Do you want me to get her back?”

  Van Orner was furious. “Of course I do. The nerve of that woman, kidnapping someone in broad daylight on a public street. Amy is my property, and she knows it.”

  Frank wanted to be sure. “What if Amy’s the one who . . .”

  He saw the light of understanding in Van Orner’s eyes. “Yes, I see, but I don’t want Mrs. Walker to have her. Bring her back here, and we’ll sort it out. It’s just too bad Mrs. Walker isn’t the one who poisoned my wife. I’d help you arrest her myself.”

  Miss Yingling gave a small cry, and both men turned to reassure her.

  “Don’t worry,” Van Orner said. “No one blames you for this.”

  “What did you mean?” she asked.

  “About what?”

  “About Mrs. Walker being the one to poison Mrs. Van Orner?”

  Van Orner’s voice was gentle when he spoke to her, making Frank wonder exactly what their relationship was. “Mr. Malloy was just explaining to me who had an opportunity to poison Vivian, and while I’d be happy to find out Mrs. Walker was the guilty party, she couldn’t have been.”

  “Yes, she could,” Miss Yingling said.

  Van Orner shook his head firmly. “No, she couldn’t. She would have had to be near enough to Vivian that day to put the poison in her flask, but—”

  “She was!”

  Both men stared at her in surprise. Frank found his tongue first. “What are you talking about?”

  “She was here. Mrs. Walker came here to the house that morning, the day Mrs. Van Orner died.”

  “The Devil you say!” Van Orner cried. “The nerve of that woman, coming to my home! Surely, no one let her in, though.”

  “I don’t know exactly what she said, but the maid put her in the receiving room and went looking for Mrs. Van Orner. We were getting ready to leave for the day. Mrs. Van Orner went down. She wouldn’t have her brought up to the parlor, so she went down to the receiving room, and they talked there.”

  “Did Mrs. Van Orner
have her purse with her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember, but she must have because we were just getting our things to go out.”

  “Would Mrs. Walker have had an opportunity to be alone with Mrs. Van Orner’s purse?”

  Miss Yingling looked up at him in despair. “I don’t know. I just don’t know!”

  “She must have. That’s it,” Van Orner said. “The Walker woman was angry at Vivian for breaking into her house and kidnapping Amy, so she poisoned Vivian and now she’s taken Amy back.”

  Frank turned to Miss Yingling. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  Guilt flushed her cheeks, but she said, “I’d forgotten all about it. I was so upset after Mrs. Van Orner died . . .”

  Frank knew she was lying, but he didn’t have time to figure out why just now. “Do you want to come with me?” he asked Van Orner.

  “No, I’ll leave this to you.”

  Of course he would. He didn’t want his name mentioned if there was trouble and the press got hold of it. “Which house on Sisters’ Row is it?”

  Armed with directions, Frank refused the offer of Van Orner’s carriage. He would make better time on foot and the elevated train.

  THE TENDERLOIN WAS QUIET AT THIS HOUR ON A MONDAY morning. The seven houses of Sisters’ Row sat as if sleeping, their shaded windows like shuttered eyes. Frank counted carefully to make sure he was at the right door and then hammered with authority.

  After a few minutes, a voice called out, “We’re closed!”

  “Not to me,” Frank called back. “I’m the police.”

  “We paid our protection. Go away!”

  “Open up or I’ll get a squad to break down the door!”

  Frank could almost feel the frustration of the person on the other side of the door as she turned the locks, ready to give Frank an earful. As soon as the latch released, however, Frank threw his weight against the door, sending the other person staggering backward as it lurched open.

  “Mrs. Walker’ll have your job!” the woman screamed, her dark face fierce with fury.

  “Just tell her Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy is here because Gregory Van Orner sent him.”