Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) (22 page)

“Of course not,” he said with perfect sincerity.

“But I couldn’t help hearing. They was right in there.” She motioned to the parlor.

He nodded.

“Miss Northrup, she say she gonna tell President Hatch something. She say he gonna be shocked and he gonna have to take some action.”

“What kind of action?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was she going to tell him?”

“Don’t know that neither, and she wouldn’t tell Miss Georgia either. Miss Georgia was real upset. Said she could cause a scandal that might ruin the school’s reputation. Miss Georgia say she should think about all the people who’d get hurt.”

“But she wouldn’t say what it was?”

“No, not even when Miss Georgia begged her.”

“Did she convince Miss Northrup not to tell?”

She shook her head. “Miss Northrup, she the most hardheaded . . . Miss Georgia couldn’t tell her nothing. Nobody could. She knew what was best, and she was gonna do it no matter what.”

“And you’re sure Miss Wilson wasn’t able to change her mind?”

“Not unless she did it after they left here that morning. Miss Georgia, she couldn’t hardly even look at Miss Abigail
at breakfast. And Miss Abigail, she so smug, I couldn’t hardly stand to look at her neither.”

But Abigail hadn’t told Hatch. Or had she? Could the college president have killed her to avoid a scandal? What could she have possibly known that would be so important? “I know Abigail didn’t say, but do you have any idea what Abigail was going to tell Mr. Hatch?”

Bathsheba looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing his right to hear her theories. Finally, she said, “I think you know enough about what goes on in this house to guess.”

*   *   *

“
S
he actually thinks Abigail was going to tell Hatch about Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly having a . . .” Gino gestured helplessly when he realized he had no way to describe the relationship between the two women.

“A romance?” Sarah suggested with a smile. The three of them had returned home so they could share what they had learned without fear of being overheard, and were sitting in the parlor. She turned to Malloy. “Could that have gotten her killed?”

“People kill other people for stupid reasons sometimes, but Hatch is really terrified of scandal and rightly so. Parents are already taking their daughters home. If they found out there was a scandal in addition to two murders . . .” He shrugged.

“So maybe Abigail told Hatch about the
romance
,” Gino said, “and he killed her to keep her quiet. Then Miss Wilson figured it out and accused him, and he had to kill her, too.”

“That’s a good theory except for one thing,” Malloy said. “Don’t you wonder why Hatch wanted to see me today?”

“I thought he just wanted to tell you about Miss Wilson’s murder,” Gino said.

“He did, but he also wanted to hire me to investigate it.”

“Oh,” Gino said, obviously disappointed. “Which means he probably isn’t the killer.”

Sarah patted his hand to comfort him.

“Unless he’s very clever and thinks he can trick me into deciding it’s somebody else,” Malloy said.

“If he’s clever, he wouldn’t do a stupid thing like that,” Sarah said, earning a grin from Malloy. “Do you think Abigail told him something that day?”

“He didn’t mention it, but I’ll need to go back and ask him, I guess, just to make sure.”

“And why would he have gone outside to meet with her?” Gino asked. “He’s got an office where they could talk without being disturbed.”

“She might’ve met with Miss Wilson or Miss Billingsly outside, though,” Sarah said.

“Why not use her own office or theirs?” Malloy asked.

“She shared her office with Pelletier, and she wouldn’t want him to walk in on them,” Sarah said. “The other women probably share their offices as well.”

“So you think Miss Wilson might’ve tried once more to make Abigail change her mind?” Gino asked.

“Or even Miss Billingsly, if she figured out what Abigail was going to tell Mr. Hatch,” Sarah said. “Except I don’t think Miss Billingsly could’ve done it. She’s so fragile, I think she would’ve gone to pieces if she’d actually taken someone’s life.”

“Maybe she’s just pretending to be fragile,” Malloy said. “Maybe she’s even just pretending to be drunk.”

Sarah gaped at him. “I never thought of that! We expect females to be emotional and even hysterical, so we never question it when they are.”

“Do you think she could be pretending?” Gino asked Sarah.

She tried to recall all of her encounters with Miss
Billingsly. “I don’t know her well enough to be sure, but I do know my mother says a female should always know how to faint convincingly in case she needs to get out of a difficult situation.”

“Did Miss Billingsly faint?” Malloy asked with interest.

“Not yet,” Sarah said with a grin, “although she did fall down rather well the very first time we met her.”

“Yes, she did,” he agreed with a grin of his own.

“We thought she was drunk,” Sarah told Gino. “Which reminds me, at the time I thought she’d been drinking because she was mourning Abigail, but now we know she hated Abigail and was probably glad she died. Today, she confessed that she thought Miss Wilson had killed her, though, which
would
explain why she was drinking.”

“Because she was afraid Miss Wilson would be arrested, I guess,” Gino said.

“That seems logical, but why did she think Miss Wilson killed her?” Malloy asked.

“Because of the fight they had the night before,” Sarah said.

“But Miss Billingsly said she doesn’t know what the scandal was that Abigail was going to reveal,” Malloy said.

“She claims she doesn’t, but we just have her word for that. She might’ve guessed or Miss Wilson might’ve told her at some point.”

“This is all a lot of guessing,” Gino complained. “And we’re forgetting all about Luther Northrup and Cornelius Raymond.”

“Should we still be thinking about them, though?” Sarah asked.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Gino asked right back.

“Because they might’ve killed Abigail, but they don’t have any reason to kill Miss Wilson.”

“Unless . . .” Malloy said, leaning back in his chair.

“Unless what?” Sarah prodded.

“Unless Miss Wilson did kill Abigail.”

Sarah tried to make sense of this, but Gino was ahead of her, probably because he was an impulsive young man himself.

“If Miss Wilson did kill Abigail—and now we know she could’ve had a good reason to—then Abigail’s brother and lover would know they didn’t do it, and from what I told them yesterday, they could’ve figured out Miss Wilson did.”

“And one or the other of them killed Miss Wilson in revenge,” Sarah added.

“Maybe both of them together,” Gino said, “although that’s kind of far-fetched, even for this case.”

“So we don’t think Luther or Raymond killed Abigail?” Malloy asked.

Sarah exchanged a frown with Gino, who shrugged. “I guess one of them might’ve done it, but then why would they kill Miss Wilson?”

“Maybe one of them killed Abigail but was mad because Miss Wilson had drawn her into sin or something,” Gino said.

“That might be a little far-fetched, too,” Malloy said, grinning, “even for this case.”

“But it’s still possible. You said yourself, people kill people for stupid reasons. So how do we sort this out?” Sarah asked.

“Tomorrow, Gino goes back to the athletic club and asks Luther and Raymond for their alibis for yesterday and the day Abigail was killed,” Malloy said.

“Can I take a bodyguard?” Gino asked in mock terror.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t go alone. We’ll both go, then.”

“What about Mr. Hatch?” Sarah asked. “Don’t you need to find out if Abigail ever met with him?”

“I’ll go to the college to see him when we’ve finished with the boys at the club,” Malloy said.

“And if one of the
boys
did kill Abigail or Miss Wilson, won’t he lie about where he was?” Gino asked.

“Which is why you’ll be checking their alibis while I talk to Hatch.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” Sarah asked.

“No, thank heaven,” Malloy said. “You’ve done more than enough already. For some reason, I thought having a detective agency would mean you wouldn’t be involved in the investigations anymore.”

Sarah had to smile at that. “Do you expect me to sit at home and be bored?”

“Maybe you should be a midwife again, Mrs. Malloy,” Gino said, earning a scowl from Malloy.

“I do miss my old vocation,” Sarah admitted. “But I don’t miss being called out in the middle of the night and being away from home for days at a time.”

“Maybe the ladies could come to you,” Gino suggested with a wicked grin. “You’ve got enough room here for them.”

“Sarah is perfectly happy being a wife and mother,” Malloy said in what he probably thought was the last word on the subject.

“How very progressive of you, Malloy,” she said.

Malloy turned to Gino. “That’s not a compliment.”

*   *   *

“
A
re you going to join a club?” Gino asked Frank as they entered the New York Athletic Club the next morning.

“I’d have to find one that would take me,” Frank said. “Micks aren’t welcome most places, you know.”

“Mr. Decker’s club accepts Jews.”

Frank gave him a look. “Jews with lots of money.”

“You’re a Mick with lots of money,” Gino said.

“I’m not sure that makes any difference,” Frank said, thinking it probably did. The question was whether he really wanted to join a club or not. He certainly didn’t plan to sit around smoking cigars and reading the newspapers all day. He could do that at home.

Well, maybe not smoke cigars, but he didn’t like smoking cigars anyway.

“Mr. Donatelli,” the fellow behind the counter said by way of welcome. Frank was glad to see Gino had made an impression. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Raymond and Mr. Northrup, as usual,” Gino replied.

Frank noticed the fellow was sizing him up and trying to reconcile his Irish face with the tailor-made suit.

“How about Mr. Vander Hooten?” the fellow asked cheerfully.

“If he’s here, I won’t refuse to see him,” Gino replied just as cheerfully.

“I don’t think he’s come in yet, but Mr. Raymond and Mr. Northrup are here. Shall I tell them you’d like to see them?”

Frank pulled a fiver out of his pocket. “Why don’t you let us surprise them?”

He eyed the bill hungrily, but he didn’t take it. “I could get in a lot of trouble.”

“Nobody will ever know. We’ll say we snuck in if anybody asks.” Frank laid the bill on the counter.

“You know where to go?” the fellow asked Gino, who nodded. He picked up the bill and slipped it into his pocket with practiced ease. Then he went to assist a member who had just come in, leaving Frank and Gino to their own devices.

Gino headed for the elevator, and Frank followed. The operator greeted them respectfully and took them up.

“You think they’re still in bed?” Frank asked.

“I got here later than this the last time, and they had to get dressed before they came down.”

The corridor with the sleeping rooms wasn’t nearly as fancy as the lobby. In fact, it was actually drab, as if the club didn’t have to cater to the men who stayed here. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe just being away from their regular home was enough.

Gino stopped in front of one of the doors and pounded several times. “Mr. Northrup?” he called. “Message for you.”

He gave Frank a grin, and Frank nodded his approval. They waited patiently, because they could hear some promising noises from inside the room. After several minutes the door opened, and Luther Northrup stood there blinking at them. He wore a set of balbriggans with pearl buttons. His hair stood up in a few odd places, and his face was creased from sleep. “What the . . .
you
?” he said at last.

“Sorry to bother you so early, old man,” Gino said, pushing his way past Northrup into the room. Frank followed.

“What do you think you’re doing, coming in here like this? I didn’t invite you.”

“We just need to ask you a couple questions, Northrup,” Frank said. “It won’t take long.”

“And who are you?” He turned to Gino. “Who is he?”

“Frank Malloy. He’s the one investigating your sister’s death.”

He squinted, as if trying to bring Frank into focus. “Oh yeah, I remember you now, from the funeral. You said you were a professor.”

“No, I didn’t. You just thought I was. Now we need some information from you about Abigail’s murder.”

“I already told this fellow, I don’t know anything about it.”

Frank started walking toward Northrup, so instinctively, Northrup started backing up. Frank walked him right up to one of the easy chairs at the end of his room and forced
him down into it. “We just need to know where you were the day your sister died.”

Northrup blinked stupidly. “What?”

“You heard me. What were you doing when you found out she was dead?”

“Oh. I . . . I was practicing on the bars.”

“You were drinking?” Frank demanded angrily.

“No! The parallel bars,” he explained frantically.

“He’s a gymnast,” Gino explained. “They swing around on these bars.”

“Why?” Frank asked, not bothering to hide his amazement.

Gino shrugged.

Frank sighed and turned back to Northrup. “Were you swinging on these bars all day?”

“No, I was doing other things, too. I swam in the morning.”

“Swam?” It was the dead of winter. “Where did you swim?”

“Here. We have a pool.”

“On the roof?”

“No, in the basement.”

“You have a pool
inside
?”

Gino leaned over and whispered, “Let me do this.” He gently pushed Frank aside so he could glare directly down at Northrup. “What did you do after you swam?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was in the exercise room. I think I jumped rope for a while and lifted weights and—”

“Were you here all day?”

“Yes, until my father telephoned me to tell me about Abby.”

“Did anybody see you?”