A Lack of Temperance (10 page)
C
HAPTER
11
HAPTER
11
“W
hat was that all about, Davish?”
hat was that all about, Davish?”
Miss Lucy and her sister, who had been waiting for me in the lobby, watched Mary Flannagan dart down the hallway. I wanted to slip away too. My knee hurt and my head was spinning from all that had happened. I wished nothing more than to be left alone to organize my thoughts at my typewriter.
“And shouldn’t you be in bed?” Miss Lucy held her hand up before I could answer or protest. She seemed none the worse for the tragedy. “Since you’re already up, let’s eat.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.
“Thank you, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “It’s all been such a shock.”
“Yes, I still can’t believe it. We worked like beetles pushing dung up a hill and still lost the vote! You did hear, didn’t you, Davish,” Miss Lucy said, “that Proposition 203 was voted down for the seventh time! And then Edwina, murdered! I don’t know if the coalition can take another blow.”
I was stunned that Miss Lucy placed the same emphasis on the loss yesterday at the polls as on the death of her friend. It was an exemplification of an organization putting their cause before individual people. Had I misjudged these kindly old ladies?
We entered the dining room and ordered tea. It was difficult to act casually but I tried. We chatted about small matters—the mild weather,
Harper’s
newest fashions, where to buy the cheapest notions—until the waiter served us. I poured. As usual, Miss Lucy was the first to broach the subject foremost on all of our minds.
Harper’s
newest fashions, where to buy the cheapest notions—until the waiter served us. I poured. As usual, Miss Lucy was the first to broach the subject foremost on all of our minds.
“Talk, Davish. Tell us everything you know.”
“Oh, Lucy, leave the poor girl alone,” Miss Lizzie chided her sister while licking her fingers. Cheese biscuit crumbs littered her plate. I was surprised she even had an appetite. I couldn’t eat a bite.
“Hattie, dear, we were concerned about you. I’m glad to see you looking more rested, though I notice you haven’t touched your food.” She took a bite of a tongue sandwich from Miss Lucy’s plate.
“Dr. Grice said she’s fine, Lizzie. Now, we’re here to talk about Edwina, aren’t we?”
“Poor Edwina, murdered!” Miss Lizzie used her napkin to dab her eyes. She took a deep breath that sounded like a stifled sob. “And for you to have seen her like that. How awful.”
“It was awful, Miss Lizzie,” I said. “I can’t stop wondering who would do such a thing.”
“Well then, let’s get down to business, shall we?” Miss Lucy drained her tea and set her cup down deliberately. “If Davish isn’t going to, I’ll start.”
The elderly sisters, almost relishing the moment, were keen to give me their versions of the afternoon’s events, as well as details they had gleaned from Officer Burke.
“Dr. Grice carried you himself, dear. He’s such a gentleman,” Miss Lizzie said, blushing. Then she bit into an apple tart. “He said you were lucky to land on that pile of dresses. Not wanting to take any chances, he attended to you himself.”
“Where is Dr. Grice now?” I said.
“He went with the police, dear. Something about an autotopsy ?”
“Not an autotopsy, Lizzie, an autopsy, a postmortem examination,” Miss Lucy said.
“Does he know how Mrs. Trevelyan died? Or when?” I asked.
“We don’t know, Davish. Dr. Grice didn’t tell us a thing,” Miss Lucy grumbled. “At least that policeman Burke was thoughtful enough to tell us they were taking Edwina’s remains to be examined and that Dr. Grice went with them. As far as we know, they’re all still there.”
“Did the police say anything else?” I said. “Do they have any ideas who did this?” Miss Lucy bristled at the question.
“No, they did not. They’ve been rude and unforthcoming. You were there during the questioning, Davish. You know everything we do. We haven’t heard anything more.”
“Of course, rumors abound, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “The police questioned the hotel staff first, and I’ve heard several of the members whispering about missing jewels.” Her hand sought the mother-of-pearl pin at her throat. “What was the maid saying?”
“Yes, Davish, you never did tell us what that maid was fussing about,” Miss Lucy said.
“Mary was telling me how several of the ladies lied about their whereabouts.”
Miss Lizzie batted her eyes as if dazed. Miss Lucy choked on her pumpkin cake.
“Don’t believe it, Davish,” Miss Lucy chided. “Did she also tell you that pink flamingos took up residence in the fountain outside? The girl’s trying to bamboozle you.”
“Why would she lie?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. She’s a strange one, that girl. Mopes around dusting at a snail’s pace, goes up to that Catholic chapel every day. I’ve even found her lounging about reading! I know it’s hard to find good help these days, but I wouldn’t put up with that. And why, I ask you, would she want to trudge all the way to that hut in the woods when a perfectly good Presbyterian church is at the bottom of the hill? Davish, now there’s a good Protestant name.”
I remained silent as I took a sip of my tea. My father had been Protestant, but my mother, who had emigrated from Ireland, had raised me Catholic. But I didn’t think Miss Lucy was in the mood for me to explain. “And her family, from what I hear, are a bunch of brawling drunkards.”
“Yes, dear, I heard she has a father or uncle or something in Ireland who’s in prison,” Miss Lizzie said in a conspiring undertone. “Allegedly killed a man. Edwina took a special interest in the girl.”
“I gave up on the girl weeks ago,” Miss Lucy said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Lint coats my chairs and dust flies out of the wardrobe, even with the door closed. Who knows what else she’s neglecting.”
“But that’s Edwina,” Miss Lizzie clucked, “wanting to save even the maid from the devil’s vice.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out she’s involved with this whole sordid business,” Miss Lucy said matter-of-factly.
“You think Mary might’ve killed Mrs. Trevelyan? But why?” I couldn’t believe it. The idea had never entered my mind.
“Who knows with servants, money, pure vindictiveness,” Miss Lucy said. “I heard Edwina tried to be strict with the girl, no courting, no carousing, and no slovenly behavior.”
“Well, I know for certain there’s some truth to what Mary told me,” I said. “Maybe she lied about a few things, but I can’t believe she murdered Mrs. Trevelyan. You must be able to think of someone else who would do this.”
“I don’t think so, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “Edwina Trevelyan was a generous, spiritual crusader of her cause, a role model for the younger women, a genuine leader.”
“But what about the threats?” I said, then told them about the threatening letters I had seen. They seemed to know all about them and were calmly dismissive.
“True, not everyone approved of her use of violence, Lucy and I included, but that’s not reason enough for someone to do this to her.”
“More motivation than Mary Flannagan has, surely,” I said.
“No, no, I agree with Lizzie,” her sister said. “The American Women’s Temperance Coalition has seen a sad day. Granted we’re grateful saloon smashing will now be a thing of the past, thank goodness, but her flock will miss her, even if we didn’t always agree with her tactics. No, I think Mary’s the best suspect.”
At that moment, the waiter returned to refill our teapot. We sat for several moments steeping our tea until Miss Lizzie interrupted the silence.
“Of course, that dreadful saloonkeeper could’ve done it.”
“George Shulman?” I said, remembering the threat he had made to Mrs. Trevelyan.
“Yes, dear, him. He showed his penchant for violence by attacking you on the stairs.”
“We don’t know for sure it was him,” I said.
“You may be on to something, Lizzie. The barkeep ran for city council, you know. I’ve heard he may have even won.“ Miss Lucy obviously hadn’t read today’s headlines yet. “And he was vehemently opposed to Proposition 203. He based his entire platform on its defeat. That’s why Edwina chose his saloon, you know. And after Edwina almost destroyed his saloon, a man like that might turn to murder. What better way to ensure its defeat than to dispatch its greatest champion.”
“But when was he at the hotel? Mrs. Trevelyan’s trunk was in her room on Monday. How did he get in her room? Whoever killed Mrs. Trevelyan had access to her trunk.”
“He must’ve come here,” Miss Lucy said. Miss Lizzie squirmed in her seat and stuffed another roll in her mouth. “What’s wrong with you, Lizzie?”
“But he said that he was working all day Monday,” I said, “and I’m sure he’ll have witnesses.”
“You believe a man like that?” Miss Lucy said. “First the maid, now the saloon man. I’m disappointed in you, Davish. I’ve known toddlers at a magic show that are less gullible.”
“I don’t know who is and who isn’t lying,” I said, shaking my head.
“Just think about it. The barkeep’s full of drink more times as not. And so are his so-called witnesses. He sells liquor on the Sabbath. What kind of man does that? He must be lying.”
“Lucy’s right, dear. He’s lying,” Miss Lizzie said, with unusual conviction.
Miss Lucy abruptly crinkled up her napkin and threw it on the table. “Why didn’t we think of this sooner? He must be arrested. Lizzie, telephone the police. The murderer must be caught.”
“But, Lucy, dear, I haven’t finished my tea.” She quickly popped a melon slice into her mouth.
“Yes, well, finish your tea, and then you can call the police.”
“Why don’t you call? If I call, I’ll miss my nap.”
“But what about my nap? Davish, why don’t you call? You’ve got nothing better to do now.” Miss Lucy’s beady eyes awaited my response.
“I don’t think the police will speak to me.” And I didn’t want to speak to them at the moment either. I quickly changed the subject. “From the look of everyone earlier, the members are taking the news of Mrs. Trevelyan’s death quite hard.”
“Yes, everyone’s in shock, dear. We’ve lost our beloved leader.”
“Everyone but Cordelia Anglewood, you mean,” Miss Lucy snapped. She was growing increasingly annoyed. “She’s always been the commanding type, but this is ridiculous. She’s already acting like we’ve elected her president.”
“Isn’t she the vice president?” I said.
“Yes, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “But the vice president has no authority to do anything in this situation but call emergency elections. She’s doing far more than that, I’m afraid. She’s circulating a resolution she wants printed in the newspaper, and she is, even as we speak, making all the arrangements for Edwina’s funeral and memorial service. I don’t think she’s consulted any other members, let alone Edwina’s children. Oh, there’s Diana Halbert and Kate Dowd.” She waved to the two women sitting at a table on the other side of the dining room.
“Mrs. Anglewood’s done all this since this morning?” I said.
“Unbelievable, isn’t it, Davish? You saw her earlier; she was like a tightly wound top, ready to spin out the window. Edwina isn’t even in the ground, and Cordelia Anglewood has anointed herself president. I’ve aligned myself with Cordelia on many issues, she being the most outspoken against the use of violence. So it pains me to say it, but I for one plan to vote against her. She’s dictating that the schedule proceeds as planned while she makes the funeral arrangements. It’s almost as if she had been prepared ahead of time.”
Miss Lizzie and I stared aghast at Miss Lucy. The silence was uncomfortable as Miss Lucy looked back and forth between me and her sister.
“What’s wrong? Why are you two looking at me . . . ?” She stopped mid-sentence, realization dawning on her face. She hesitated to say any more.
“Miss Lucy, are you implying that Mrs. Anglewood knew beforehand that Mrs. Trevelyan was dead?”
“Oh, that’s not what you meant, is it, Lucy, dear?” Miss Lizzie squeaked, an expression of mortification on her face.
“No, no. Goodness, girl, you have a more vivid imagination than Jules Verne,” Miss Lucy said, shaking her head. “No, I only meant that Cordelia is ambitious and I wouldn’t put it past her to have anticipated this possible occasion, that’s all. Everyone knows she’d sell one of her grandchildren to be AWTC’s president. You’re both reading too much into this. Rumor had it that after the incident at the saloon, Cordelia was going to call new elections anyway.”
“Ambitious enough to have killed Mrs. Trevelyan?” I said.
“Lower your voice, Davish,” Miss Lucy said, quickly glancing about the room. “You certainly did hit your head hard, didn’t you? Enough of this. Here, eat some more cake.” Miss Lucy handed me the plate she snatched from in front of her sister.
“But you just implied that very possibility,” I said.
“I did no such thing.”
“Hattie, dear, that is wicked of you to say, no, to even think such a thing,” Miss Lizzie said. “Cordelia did not murder Edwina, George Shulman did. Besides, Cordelia was out riding on Monday.”
Cordelia Anglewood had done more than go riding; she had quarreled with Mrs. Trevelyan, almost striking her with a whip. A fact she had yet to reveal to Miss Lucy, Miss Lizzie, or the police.
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