Fallen Angels (16 page)

“It’s you!” she cried.

“May I come in for a moment?”

Susan looked frantically behind and
around her, although I don’t know why. Heck,
I
wasn’t Mrs. Chalmers’ killer.

“I just need to ask a few questions,” I said
in my most soothing tone.

“Well . . . the mister isn’t in very good
shape at the moment. He’s took the missus’s death mighty hard.”

Nuts. I really had wanted to interview Mr.
Chalmers. Still, if I could at least get into the house, I might be
able to work my way up from the servants to the master. I said,
“I’d like to speak with you and Mrs. Hanratty, actually. This is
part of the ongoing investigation, you see.”

“You’re working with the coppers?”

“And my employer, Mr. Templeton. After all,
he was working for Mrs. Chalmers and was injured at the same time
she was killed.” Stretching points doesn’t count as lying. At least
I don’t think it does.

“Well . . .”

She wavered just enough for me to slip past
her. I headed toward the kitchen, where I figured Mrs. Hanratty
would be, mainly because I could smell savory odors issuing
therefrom and guessed she was preparing luncheon for the master of
the house.

“Well . . .” came again, weakly, from behind
me.

Susan trailed after me, unsure if this was a
proper thing I was doing, but unable to stop me now that I’d gained
entry.

Gently, I pushed the kitchen door open. Sure
enough, Mrs. Hanratty stood at the stove, stirring what looked like
a pot of soup.

“Good morning, Mrs. Hanratty.”

The poor woman jumped and whirled around,
dropping her wooden spoon into her pot. “Good heavens! You gave me
such a start.”

I went to her and took her arm, feeling
contrite. “I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

She shook her head. “Alarm me? What with the
missus falling down the stairs and killing herself and the mister
being that miserable and Mr. Simon here underfoot all day long, day
after day, and that preacher woman visiting, I don’t know what the
world’s coming to.”

Aha. So Sister Emmanuel has visited Mr.
Chalmers! Whatever did that mean? Probably nothing. But I didn’t
have time to ponder the minister’s visit.

“I don’t either.” Sympathetic was the tone I
reached for, and I flatter myself that I achieved it. Because I
wasn’t altogether sure about that, I said, “I’m so sorry to
interrupt your work, Mrs. Hanratty, but I do need to ask a few more
questions about poor Mrs. Chalmers and her death.”

“I don’t know anything about her death,” the
woman said stolidly.

“I’m sure that’s true, but you see, in
investigations of this sort, we need to discover everything we can
about the person who was murdered. Only in that way can we discover
the killer.”

Mrs. Hanratty’s eyes thinned. “I thought it
was that boss of yours who kilt her.”

“It most certainly was not Mr. Templeton,” I
declared. “After I discovered Mrs. Chalmers at the foot of the
stairs, I discovered Mr. Templeton upstairs, bound and gagged. And
drugged.”

She sniffed. “Sez you.”

“I do say it, because it’s the truth.”

Mrs. Hanratty tried to hold on to her
indignation, but finally let it out on a long sigh. “I suppose he
didn’t do it. He never seemed the type to me. But if he didn’t kill
her, who did?”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to
discover.”

Although she’d gone back to stirring her
soup, she eyed me narrowly. “You? What can you do?”

“I can ask questions. That’s what
investigators do, you see.”

She thought about my words for a while.

As she did so, I looked around and discovered
that Susan had lingered in the doorway, still looking as if she’d
done the wrong thing by not blocking my way when I tried to get
into the house. I smiled at her. “Perhaps you can join us, Susan.
I’d like to speak with both of you, actually.”

Pointing to her chest as if she wasn’t sure
who she was, Susan said, “Me? Why me? I was with Mrs. Hanratty when
some devil threw the missus down those stairs.”

“I know. But you see, I need to learn more
about the household and its visitors and things like that.”

It was Mrs. Hanratty who responded. “Well,
sit down . . . What’s your name, anyhow? I forgot it.”

“Miss Allcutt,” said I.

I’d been taking in the kitchen, and it looked
pretty well stocked and up to date to me. Not that I knew a whole
lot about kitchens, but I’d been in our kitchen in Boston—the cook,
unlike our parents, had been friends with Chloe and me—and in
Chloe’s kitchen. This one looked much like Chloe’s, with cheerful
curtains at the windows, bright paint, what looked like a new stove
and a large icebox. Come to think of it, as I examined it more
closely from where I stood beside the kitchen table, it looked as
if it might be one of those newfangled electric refrigerators.
Chloe had one, and this one seemed remarkably similar to hers.

“Well, sit yourself down, Miss Allcutt. And
you, too, Susan. We have a little while before you have to serve
the mister and Mr. Simon their lunches. And I just made a pot of
tea.”

“Oh, is Mr. Simon Chalmers here, too?” Better
and better. Maybe I could speak with both gentlemen.

“Yes. He’s been here a lot lately. Comforting
his pa and all. Tomorrow’s going to be a dismal day, what with the
funeral and all.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. I read about the
arrangements in the paper.” I’d contemplated going to the funeral
but had decided that would be too intrusive a thing to do, even for
me.

“Mr. Simon didn’t want that preacher lady
praying over the dead missus, but the mister said that he wanted to
do what the missus would have wanted, and she’d want that preacher
lady.”

“The preacher lady?”

“Yeah. Mr. Simon, he kind of snorted, but he
went along with the mister.”

“You said that the . . . er, preacher lady
visited Mr. Chalmers?” I probed gently.

“Yes. She come Sunday afternoon.” Mrs.
Hanratty’s face squinched up in thought. “Didn’t stay long. I think
she and the mister prayed together or something.”

I imagined Mrs. Hanratty was right, if the
visitor was who I thought she was. “Did Mr. Chalmers seem to . . .
resent her coming to visit?”

“Resent her visit?” More wrinkles. More
thinking. “Naw. He said afterward that he thought it was nice she
paid a visit, since his wife was so fond of her. I don’t see it
myself, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

Wasn’t
that
the truth? “I see. What about Mr. Simon
Chalmers? Did he visit his father and stepmother often before Mrs.
Chalmers’ death?”

Mrs. Hanratty thought about that for a moment
as she continued to stir. “Sometimes he did. He has his own place.
I got the feeling he didn’t like the missus much.”

“I got that same impression when I spoke to
him last Thursday. It’s always a shame when families aren’t close,”
I said, more or less repeating Mr. John Gilbert’s words to me. As
if I’d know anything about close family relationships. Well, except
for Chloe and me. We were very close.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” said Mrs. Hanratty
in a hurry. “Mr. Simon was always polite to the missus, and he and
his pa have always got on great guns. I don’t think he liked it
that the missus got herself involved in that new church.”

“Ah, yes. The Angelica Gospel Hall. Where
Mrs. Emmanuel preaches.”

“That’s the one!” This, from Susan, who’d
hesitated before daring to sit with me at the kitchen table. Class
distinctions. Phooey on them, I say.

“And it was Sister Emmanuel who visited
yesterday afternoon?” I asked Mrs. Hanratty.

“Yup. That’s the one, all right. She seemed
kind of nice.” She spoke as though Sister Emmanuel’s niceness had
come as a surprise to her.

To encourage Susan’s participation in this
conversation, I gave her another friendly smile. “Was Mrs. Chalmers
good to work for, Susan? Was she a kind mistress?”

“Oh, yes. She was very good, ma’am.”

Boy, if there was one thing I wasn’t
used to being called, it was
ma’am
. But I didn’t say anything to discourage
Susan. “I’m glad to hear it. When I met her, she seemed a lovely
lady.” Very well, I hadn’t liked her much. She had been lovely,
though, and that was nothing but the truth.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, that she was.” Susan’s face
crinkled up a bit. “Though she did keep on about that new church
with me and Mrs. Hanratty.”

“Susan,” said Mrs. Hanratty in a reproving
voice.

Susan flinched slightly, but I rushed to
reassure Susan. “But don’t you see? This is exactly the sort of
information I need. You see, if Mrs. Chalmers annoyed you, perhaps
she annoyed someone else, too. Someone with evil intentions.”

After chewing this bit of news over for a
second or two, Susan said, “Well, it’s not so much that she annoyed
me or anything. Like I said, she was a very nice lady. But I’m a
Roman Catholic, you know, being Irish and all, and I couldn’t go to
her church. My family would never forgive me.”

“I see.” I also understood.

I heard Mrs. Hanratty give a deep sigh over
her soup pot. “She asked me to go to that place with her, too,” she
said. “I think she only did it to be kind, but I have my own
church. Besides, I like to spend my days off away from my work.”
She eyed me as if she wasn’t sure she could trust me. “If you know
what I mean.”

“Believe me, I understand you completely.”
Then I asked, “Who else used to visit Mrs. Chalmers? Did she have
special friends who came by regularly or whom she went to see
regularly?”

Mrs. Hanratty squinched her eyes up again, I
presume to help her think. “Let me see . . .”

“There was that Mrs. Pinkney,” Susan
said.

“Yes. Mrs. Pinkney was her best friend, I’d
say.”

“I’ve met Mrs. Pinkney,” said I. “She was
very broken up to learn about Mrs. Chalmers.”

“I imagine she was,” said Mrs. Hanratty with
a sad expression. “The missus and her were good chums.”

“Did anyone else from the church visit her?”
I asked, trying to broaden my investigation.

“Hmm. I don’t—”

“Yes!” cried Susan, as if she’d just had a
bright thought. This encouraged me a bit, since I’d begun to think
of Susan as a rather dim bulb. “There was that other couple. What
was their names . . . ?” Again her forehead crinkled.

“Oh, yes. I forgot them. I think their last
name started with an I. Or was it an E?” Mrs. Hanratty, too,
appeared puzzled.

But I thought I knew to whom the women were
referring. “Could they have been Mr. and Mrs. Everett?”

“That’s them!” said Susan, pleased.

Mrs. Hanratty nodded. “Yes. That’s them, all
right, although they called themselves Brother and Sister Everett,
like as if they was born into the same family, when they was really
married.” She shook her head as if she didn’t understand or
appreciate Sister Emmanuel’s brothering and sistering ways. “Liked
him. Didn’t like her.”

Interesting. “Why not?” I asked.

With a shrug, Mrs. Hanratty said, “Don’t know
exactly.”

“I know why I didn’t like her,” Susan said
firmly. “She kept looking around as if she smelled something bad.
And she had funny eyes.”

“Funny eyes?” I said, hoping for
elucidation.

“Yeah. I don’t know how else to describe
them.”

Great. Funny eyes. I hadn’t noticed anything
particularly funny about Mrs. Everett’s eyes, although I must admit
I’d only seen her for a moment or two last Sunday. I decided I
needed to visit that church again the following week.

Before I could ask the two servants anything
else, the kitchen door swung open and darned if Mr. Simon Chalmers
didn’t stroll in!

“Mrs. Hanratty, could you serve luncheon—”
Then he spotted me. “Why, good day to you, Miss . . . um . . .”

“Allcutt,” I said. “I’m only here to ask a
few questions in pursuit of determining the identity of your
stepmother’s murderer.” At that bold statement, I almost cringed
myself, thinking of how Ernie would react if he knew I was
here.

“Miss Allcutt. Yes.” He walked over to me.
“You’re an enterprising young woman. I didn’t realize you were an
investigator, too.”

Was he being cheeky? I couldn’t tell, so I
decided to act as if the statement was a serious one. “Goodness,
yes. Why, the police actually think my employer might have done the
wicked deed, and I know he did not. Therefore, I’m doing everything
I can to solve the mystery, since they seem determined to pin it on
Mr. Templeton.”

“I see.”

“In fact,” I went on, greatly daring, “I’d
like to speak with you . . . and your father, too, if he’s up to
it, after you take your luncheon. If you wouldn’t mind.”

Simon Chalmers blinked at me a couple of
times, then said, “Well . . . I guess it’s all right. My father is
pretty devastated, so I hope you won’t ask anything . . . well, you
know.”

“I know,” I assured him. “And I would be most
grateful to you both.”

“Then, sure. But you might as well come along
now. I don’t believe Mrs. Hanratty will be serving lunch until
around one. By the way,” he said, this time speaking to Mrs.
Hanratty, “will you please serve lunch in my father’s library? He
doesn’t feel up to moving around much.”

“I’ll certainly do that, Mr. Simon,” said
Mrs. Hanratty.

I could tell by the smile she gave him that
he was a favorite of hers, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to have him
arrested for murder. I liked Mrs. Hanratty. I also noticed that Mr.
Simon Chalmers only gave Susan a friendly nod. I presume he’d
already pegged her as someone not worth conversing with, although
whether that was because she was a maid or because she didn’t have
much intelligent conversation in her, I didn’t know.