Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery (25 page)

“But she didn’t seem at all jealous of you?”

“She seemed more sad than angry. Like he had disappointed her again. She once said to me that he could be such a better man if he didn’t worship the almighty dollar so much.”

“Did Mr. Rashers ever give you any idea about what his relationship was like with his wife?”

“I didn’t ask, and he didn’t say. My experience is that men of his class don’t really see their relationships with other women as any business of their wives. But from what you say, sounds like she did take an interest. I wondered why old Griggs was so cagey when I asked if the widow would be willing to maintain the same charges for the label print runs.”

“She’s insisting that she completely trusted her husband,” said Laura.

Miss Von Klepp laughed. “Well she’s either a fool or a liar. But in either case, I better suggest to my boss that he be the one to speak to her. She might not respond well to overtures on my part.”

Well-satisfied with what she’d learned, Laura said she wouldn’t keep Miss Von Klepp away from her duties, if she could just ask one more question. “I understand that there is some sort of dinner break for the women at 6:30. I wondered if, on the Friday Rashers was killed, you or any of your workers noticed anybody hanging around the stairs  who seemed out of place?”

“In the summer, I usually leave about that time. Sometimes I even stopped by to see old Joshua if I felt the need for a laugh or a free smoke before I went home. But not that night. As a sort of early July Fourth celebration, I went out to eat with some of the girls. I didn’t see anyone unusual—just Griggs and that handsome pressman and his apprentice. But I will certainly ask everyone. I assume it would help Florence if we could come up with a nasty-looking stranger to blame the murder on.”

*****

T
he lively Miss Van Klepp insisted Laura come out and meet some of the girls on the factory floor before she left. As a result, she didn’t realize what time it was when she exited the cigar box factory. That was the excuse she gave herself later for her decision to take the back stairs that led out to the Clay Street entrance. In consequence, she ran into Seth in the stairwell.

Of course, she felt she needed to explain why she was at the Niantic––to make it clear she wasn’t there to see him. When they got to the street, she said she needed to hurry home because Mrs. O’Rourke was expecting her to be there for dinner––just in case he thought she was angling for a dinner invitation. He simply nodded and then announced he would walk her to the corner of Kearney and Clay, where she would get the North Beach and Mission car home. Standing at the next corner, waiting for a break in the traffic going down Montgomery, he said, “What did you think of Miss Von Klepp?”

“I quite liked her.” Laura said. “She reminds me a little of my own forewoman, Iris Bailor––competent and very sure of herself. But she did say something that I thought was interesting. She said she thought Florence Sullivan didn’t love or hate Rashers...but that she was disappointed in him.”

“Disappointed that he’d decided to fire her—as Mrs. Rashers is saying?”

“No...not that. Miss Von Klepp agreed with you that Rashers wouldn’t have fired her. In fact, she said that it was her belief that he would do almost anything to keep her working there.” Laura thought for a moment. “She said that Florence steadfastly believed that Rashers had the potential to be a better man than he was.”

“But he didn’t live up to that potential?”

“Obviously not. But do you think that is why she stayed working for him? She kept hoping to change him. Or at least keep the worst elements of his nature in check.”

Before Seth could answer, a woman’s high voice claimed their attention, saying, “Seth Timmons, you devil. I asked you to wait. That old fool Griggs went on and on about nothing.”

Laura saw it was the typesetter she and Seth had run into outside of Hank’s on Monday. The one with Franklin Griggs...Orrie something or other.

“Miss Childers, I believe I introduced you to Miss Dawson,” Seth said, interrupting the black-haired young woman who was shamelessly batting her eyes at him.

Acting as if she’d just noticed that Seth was talking to someone else, Miss Childers turned to Laura and said, “Of course. Miss Dawson, how nice to run into you.”

Orrie leaned into Seth and slipped her arm through his, saying, “Seth, why didn’t you tell me that Miss Dawson and I have so much in common—both being typesetters and all? Seems strange you didn’t mention her before—I thought you said you hadn’t worked for any other printers in town?”

When Seth didn’t respond to this query, Laura felt compelled to fill in the silence, saying, “It was a surprise to me as well to discover that Mr. Timmons and I...”

“That isn’t the only strange thing I learned today,” Orrie said, speaking over Laura. “Griggs was just telling me that, in addition to being the sister of that charming lawyer who was here last week, you are the future sister-in-law of the woman who has been doing the books for the past two days. Quite a family enterprise you all have going. Should I expect you to be joining me as a typesetter at Rashers any time soon? Since I assume Mrs. Sullivan won’t be returning?”

Sunday, late afternoon, July 18, 1880

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“MARITAL MURDER: A Vengeful Wife Deliberately Kills Her Husband”
San Francisco Chronicle,
October 2, 1880

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N
ate stood in the back yard behind the O’Farrell Street boarding house and looked down at the terrier, Dandy, who waited at his feet with a crooked stick held firmly in his mouth.

“So fella, if you want me to throw that, you’ve got to let go. I promise you, I am not going to indulge in a game of tug of war.”

Dropping the stick, Dandy sat and looked up at him expectantly, his slightly bulging brown eyes gleaming, his pink tongue curling in his wide mouth. Nate picked up one end, avoiding the moist middle, and tossed it toward the back fence. The dog raced after it, skittering to a stop to scoop it up in his mouth and tear back to Nate’s feet. This time, after picking up the stick, Nate held it about shoulder high, watching in admiration as Dandy leaped up, almost getting it from him. The dog must be part frog to reach that high. He tossed the stick again.

It was a little after three, and in the good old days, after an excellent and very filling Sunday dinner like the one he’d just finished, he would have been lighting up a cigar. Shaking his head at the thought, Nate turned to look into the kitchen door that was standing open, hoping to catch a glimpse of Annie.

Mrs. O’Rourke, Kathleen, and Tilly, the little Irish girl who worked part time, had outdone themselves cooking, but with the afternoon sun hitting the back of the house, the kitchen was a steam bath. Which was why he was waiting in the back yard underneath the shade of the apricot tree while Annie consulted with her staff over some domestic crisis. Something about the laundress having just sent a note round that she wouldn’t be able to make it to the house tomorrow for wash day.

He threw the stick again.

“Well, I am glad someone in this house is getting exercise.” Annie’s soft voice was infused with laughter. “Here, Beatrice thought that lemonade might help with your after-dinner digestion.”

“Did you get the problem resolved?” Nate took the tall glass filled with freshly squeezed lemon juice, sugar, and ice chips. “You know, when I move in, I will be able to add the money I pay Mrs. McPherson to your housekeeping budget. That should let you hire additional staff.”

“Oh, you may be sure I am counting on that. Beatrice has already talked to Tilly about starting full time when we get back from the wedding trip. Wherever that may be.”

Annie smiled at him, and as usual his heart misbehaved.

“Now that we have the date set, I can firm up my plans, and then I promise to at least give you a hint.”

At dinner, Esther Stein announced that through one of her German friends she’d been able to secure St. Mark’s Lutheran church for them to hold an early evening wedding on Wednesday, August 11. Nate’s sister then volunteered to design and print up the invitations. Suddenly, everything seemed to be falling into place—at least on the personal front.

Nate took a sip of the lemonade then said, “I need to write my parents and make completely sure they can be here by that Tuesday at the latest and reserve hotel rooms for them and Billy and Violet. Do you think it will be too late if we hold off sending out the invitations until I get a response from them?”

Annie moved over to the bench beneath the apricot tree and sat down. Nate went over to join her. Dandy gratefully lay down in a spot of shade, the stick carefully placed near at hand in case someone wanted to resume playing with him.

She said, “I can’t see why anyone needs more than two weeks’ notice. And if some of our clients can’t make it...well, so much the better. Beatrice swears she can provide a sufficient wedding supper for fifty or more people, but I would really rather she not have to do so.”

Nate nodded, not really that interested in the details. He looked back at the kitchen door and said, “Is Laura going to join us soon? She told me at dinner she had some important information to impart—about my case
.
”

Nate’s displeasure when Annie told him Wednesday night that Laura had tracked Seth Timmons down hadn’t fully dissipated.

“I think she is up in her room, primping. Did she tell you that she invited Seth to come by this afternoon to consult with us? I think this was her way of getting him to attend the study session this evening with her friends Kitty and Ned. Oh, there she is.”

Nate couldn’t help but admire his little sister as she came out of the dark kitchen into the summer sunlight, carrying a tray with a pitcher and three more glasses filled with ice. Tall and slim, she glowed with health, and the way her dark brown hair was twisted up to the top of her head, exposing her long neck, was quite attractive. What he didn’t know was how he felt about the idea that the spray of flowers tucked coquettishly behind one ear and the low neck-line of the pink summer dress she was wearing were for Seth Timmons.

She was followed by Kathleen, who carried a small table and another chair, which she brought over to the bench where they were sitting, saying, “Here you go, miss. Enjoy the shade. I will send Mr. Timmons out when he comes. Do you want me to take Dandy back in with me?”

Nate looked down at the dog, who had opened up one eye with the arrival of Laura and Kathleen. “No, he is fine here. I am surprised not to see Jamie; they are so seldom parted.”

“David Chapman is taking Barbara and Jamie to Woodward’s Gardens. There is a balloon ascension scheduled,” said Annie. “Dandy was not invited. Kathleen, my dear, it is too hot for you all to stay a moment longer in the kitchen. I know Patrick is coming by to take you out, but make sure Mrs. O’Rourke and Tilly follow my instructions and sit awhile on the front porch and cool off.”

Once Kathleen had disappeared back into the house, Nate turned to Annie and Laura and said, “I gather you’ve been following what the newspapers have been saying about Mrs. Sullivan? Miss Pitts Stevens isn’t pleased. But at least they haven’t discovered her role in supporting Mrs. Sullivan.”

Annie touched his arm and said, “Do you know if Mrs. Sullivan has seen the papers?”

“I imagine she has. I’ve stopped by every day, but she’s back to not accepting any visits again, at least not from me. Annie, I was wondering if you could find time to come with me on tomorrow. Maybe she won’t turn me away if I have a woman with me. I am really worried that she is going to change her mind and plead guilty rather than have to go through the trial—particularly given what has been said about her in the press.”

“Of course I will make time,” Annie replied. “Perhaps in the evening. I am scheduled to meet with Mrs. Rashers in the morning after I finish up a few loose ends of the audit. You could tell Mrs. Sullivan I’ve come to report on how the business is doing.”

Nate smiled at her and said, “That might help.” Then he turned to Laura and said, trying not to sound angry, “Well, you said at dinner that you had learned something we should know about my client.”

Laura frowned and replied, “Yes, dear brother, I did. I had a long conversation with Iris Bailor, and it is just as we all suspected. Mrs. Sullivan fell in love with her employer in the first six months she worked there. Rashers evidently told her some nonsense about his marriage being in name only. Iris pretended not to know if they’d actually become lovers, but I think it is pretty clear they did.”

“How sad,” Annie said. “From what I have heard, she was a pretty devout girl. She must have felt extremely guilty. Do you know if it was his decision or hers to end it—since I gather the affair was over when she started coming back to church?”

“If Iris is correct, she was the one who finally put an end to it...once and for all...when his wife turned up pregnant—for the second time.”

Annie said that this fit the story the WCPU owner, Mrs. Richmond, told her. And she added, “It is possible that after years of childlessness, Rashers was actually thinking about divorce and remarriage to a younger woman. But once the first son came, I doubt he was ever serious about ending his marriage. Not when his wife had majority control of the shares in the firm. He just wanted to have his cake and eat it too.”

Feeling a wave of shame on behalf of all men, Nate said, “Do you think Mrs. Rashers knew about this?”

“I bet not much gets past her,” said Annie. “But I also think that she would be confident that, with two sons, he wouldn’t ever divorce her.”

Nate wished Laura hadn’t confirmed their suspicions about the affair. Now it seemed even more possible that some evidence would turn up—a letter or something—that would cement the image the press was trying to establish—that the staid, sad Mrs. Sullivan was some kind of wanton woman.

Annie interrupted his thoughts by saying, “What I don’t understand is why Mrs. Sullivan stayed on with the firm once the affair was good and truly ended...especially after she married.”