Murder on Lenox Hill (33 page)

“I've been thinking about Grace Linton.”

Sarah felt a knot of dread forming in her stomach. “You don't think Upchurch was responsible after all, do you?”

“No,” he assured her quickly. “At least not directly.”

“How could he be
indirectly
responsible?” she asked. “He either was or he wasn't.”

He sipped his coffee, and Sarah waited. Time was when she would've badgered him for an explanation. Now she knew he was looking for the proper words to use to tell her something he didn't want her to hear. She was too grateful that he'd come to trust her enough to confide in her to rush him.

“When I questioned Wilfred Linton on Sunday, he told me that he'd been thinking about what Upchurch had done to the boys, and how he'd convinced them it was a perfectly normal thing so they wouldn't be frightened. He said that got him to wondering if Grace's attacker might've done the same thing.”

“You mean tricked her?”

“Well, yeah. He could've convinced her it was something that happened to every girl. Maybe he even said he loved her and told her it was something people in love did. She's so trusting, she'd believe it.”

“Of course she would,” Sarah said, considering all the new possibilities this raised. “Oh, dear!” she cried suddenly.

“What?” he asked with a worried frown.

“I just realized that all this time I've been asking Grace if someone hurt her or frightened her or did something she didn't like. If she was really seduced by a lover, those are the wrong questions! No wonder she kept insisting that nothing bad had happened to her!”

“You mean you didn't ask her if somebody had . . . ?” He hesitated, as always uncomfortable with delicate subjects. “You didn't describe it?”

“No,” she said, feeling stupid. “I didn't want to . . . well, I guess I didn't want to make myself uncomfortable by talking about what I assumed had been a horrible and frightening experience for her. I thought she would've been terrified and that it would've been painful, but if it wasn't . . .”

“Then that explains why you didn't get the right answers from her,” Malloy concluded.

Sarah considered all the possibilities. “That still leaves us with the fact that Grace is never alone with anyone male. And if it's true, who could that male have been? You've already eliminated Upchurch.”

“I've been thinking about that a lot. One thing all the boys said is that Upchurch told them he was teaching them what to do when they loved a woman. We know one of the boys put his lessons to good use in fathering another child.”

“Isaiah!” Sarah exclaimed.

“We've got pretty good evidence that he knew exactly what to do.”

“But Rachel Upchurch pursued him,” Sarah argued. “She knew he'd figured out that Upchurch had been lying to them, and she took advantage of his anger and bitterness against her husband.”

“Maybe he wasn't satisfied with just one woman, though. Maybe he wanted to try it with someone else, too.”

“Oh, my, Rachel did say that Isaiah wanted to prove he was a man,” Sarah remembered. “But why Grace?”

“Maybe he couldn't find any girls who are . . . well, smart, that were willing. Maybe he was afraid to try. Grace is a pretty girl, and he'd know she'd be easy to fool.”

It made sense, but something wasn't right. She just couldn't imagine Grace being charmed by Isaiah. “She told me she doesn't even like him,” she remembered.

“Maybe she stopped liking him after he did it.”

“She did say he'd called her stupid.”

Malloy nodded his head in understanding. “Boys can be mean when they've had their way with a girl.”

“I don't know,” Sarah mused. “It seems logical, but . . .”

“There's one way to be sure,” he said. “Ask Grace.”

 
 
S
ARAH HAD SENT MRS. LINTON A MESSAGE REQUESTING A private meeting, and Mrs. Linton had agreed. Sarah imagined the poor woman was wondering what she could possibly want to discuss this time. She probably thought it had something to do with Upchurch's death. If only it were that simple.

Over tea that Sarah was too nervous to drink, she explained to Mrs. Linton what she and Malloy had concluded about Grace having been seduced instead of raped, based on her own husband's theory.

“Yes, Mr. Linton did mention that to me,” Mrs. Linton said slowly. “And it does make a certain kind of sense. I've been thinking about it myself, wondering if it could have happened, but even still, I can't imagine who it could have been. You know how closely we watch her. It just doesn't seem possible that . . . that anyone would have had an opportunity to be alone with her, much less . . .”

“Mr. Malloy discovered that one of the boys Upchurch . . . harmed,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “One of them has . . .” How could she put this delicately? “That one of the older boys has had relations with another . . . female and gotten her with child as well.”

“Oh, no! How awful!” Mrs. Linton exclaimed. “Is it another girl in the church? Someone we know?”

“Oh, no,” Sarah lied. “But since we know one of the boys has already, uh, persuaded another female, without resorting to force, it seems possible he could have persuaded Grace, as well.”

“Oh, my, how awful! A boy we know. . . . This is almost worse than what we'd imagined!” she said, literally wringing her hands. “But where could it have happened?”

“Perhaps at the church,” Sarah said apologetically. “It's just about the only place we could think of. I'm so sorry to bring you such distressing news, Mrs. Linton, but I thought it might help if you knew Grace hadn't been brutalized, at least. That is, if this is what really happened,” she added lamely.

Mrs. Linton pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “I suppose it would help a bit to know she wasn't terrorized,” she allowed. “Do you . . . ? Who is the boy?”

“I'd rather not say, in case I'm wrong. If I'm right, though, Grace will tell you who it was.”

Obviously, Mrs. Linton hadn't thought about asking Grace. Her eyes widened as other possibilities occurred to her. “Should we punish this boy, whoever he is? Or have him arrested for what he did to Grace and the other girl? He must be stopped!”

“I agree, but it's possible he didn't know what he was doing was wrong. Perhaps he was just . . . Well, Upchurch twisted the boys' minds as well as assaulting their bodies. I think they'll all need some help and guidance figuring out what's right and wrong for some time to come. Mr. Malloy is willing to deal with him outside of the law, if that's what you choose. I don't think he's a bad boy, Mrs. Linton. Don't forget, he was a victim, too.”

“I suppose you're right, but I still can't stand the thought of him getting away with it.”

“Remember, this is just a theory. Grace is the only one who can tell you what really happened. Now that you know what to ask her, it shouldn't be hard to find out, either.”

“Oh, I couldn't ask her,” Mrs. Linton protested, dabbing at her eyes again. “Every time I think about what happened to her, I start crying, and then she gets so upset . . . Mrs. Brandt, could
you
ask her about it?”

“It's not really my place,” she hedged, not wanting to usurp a mother's role.

“Please. I'd be so grateful, and I know Grace trusts you. She'd tell you the truth, no matter what it is. And I imagine you could get through it without crying and upsetting Grace.”

Touched by her confidence, Sarah was still reluctant to assume such a heavy responsibility alone. “If you really want me to, I'll do it, but I'd like for you to be in the room,” Sarah said. “In case Grace needs your support.”

She drew a fortifying breath. “All right. I think I can control my emotions if I don't have to talk. I'll call Grace down right now, before I lose my courage altogether.”

The girl's stomach had swelled noticeably since Sarah had seen her last. She saw Sarah looking at it and grinned. “I'm getting fat,” she said, patting her belly. “Mama said that's supposed to happen.”

“She's right,” Sarah confirmed with what she hoped was a natural-looking smile. “Would you sit here beside me, Grace?” she asked, patting the sofa seat. “I'd like to talk to you about something.”

Grace sat down obediently and looked up at Sarah with such innocence that it made her heart hurt.

She took a breath and plunged in. “Do you remember when we asked you if anyone had ever hurt you, Grace?”

Grace nodded, her pretty little mouth screwing up in disgust. “I told you and told you,
no
.”

“We believe you now, but I still need to ask you about something that happened last summer.”

“All right,” Grace agreed. “If I can remember. Last summer was a long time ago.”

“I think you'll remember. It's about a boy,” Sarah said. “This boy would've been very nice to you.”

“Most boys are mean,” Grace informed her solemnly.

“I know. That's why you'll remember. This boy told you he liked you. He wanted to be alone with you so he could kiss you and touch you. Do you remember that, Grace?”

Grace hunched her shoulders and covered her mouth with both hands to hide an impish grin. She nodded, her eyes dancing with a delicious secret, and her mother made a strangled sound.

“What's wrong, Mama?” Grace asked anxiously, turning to where her mother sat on the far side of the room.

“Nothing dear,” she said, her voice strained. “I . . . something was in my throat. Go ahead and answer Mrs. Brandt's questions.”

Grace turned expectantly back to Sarah.

“He wanted to do things with you,” Sarah said, wishing she knew the right words to use, the ones that would describe without revealing her true feelings. If Grace got the idea that what she'd done was wrong, she might never tell them what really happened. “He probably took off some of his clothes, and you did, too.”

“I wasn't wearing clothes,” Grace informed her.

Sarah winced inwardly, expecting Mrs. Linton to cry out again, but miraculously, she didn't. “You weren't wearing anything at all?” Sarah asked, her throat dry as she experienced the same dread Mrs. Linton must be feeling.

“Just my nightdress,” Grace said. “But I didn't take it off. That wouldn't be nice.”

Sarah glanced at Mrs. Linton who gazed back in baffled surprise. “Where did this happen, Grace?” Sarah asked.

“In my bedroom. That's why I was wearing my nightdress, silly.”

“A . . . a man was in your bedroom?” Mrs. Linton said in a strangled voice.

“Not a
man
,” Grace told her. “You're not supposed to let men in your bedroom. Everybody knows that.”

“If he wasn't a man, what was he?” Sarah asked, mystified by how her mind worked.

“He's a boy,” she said, as if that were the only possible answer. “I know it's all right for boys to be in my bedroom. Sometimes we play there, and Mama said it was all right.”

“But . . . but that was just Percy,” Mrs. Linton said, “when you were both children.”

Grace seemed puzzled. “But we're still children,” she said. “That's what you always call us. Mrs. Evans and Mrs. York do, too.”

“Grace,” Sarah said, drawing her attention back from the fruitless argument. “How did he get into your room?”

“I'm not supposed to tell anybody, because he's not allowed to be out after dark. His mother would've been mad at him.”

“It's all right to tell us now, Grace,” Sarah said. “It was a long time ago. How did he get into your room?”

“Just like he always does. He climbed up the fire escape,” she reported with a hint of glee.

“Like he always does?” Sarah echoed. “Has he come more than once?”

“Sure, lots of times, and we'd play these funny games. I didn't like all of them, but mostly I did. They felt really good.”

This time Mrs. Linton couldn't hold back the sob that wracked her.

“Mama, what's wrong?” Grace asked in alarm.

“Nothing, nothing,” she hastily assured her, although her face betrayed her anguish.

“Are you sick? Maybe Mrs. Brandt could take care of you.” She turned to Sarah. “I remembered you're a nurse.”

“That was very smart of you, Grace,” Sarah assured her, although the smile she managed felt almost painful. “I think your mother will be fine. I just want to ask you a few more questions.”

“All right, but I think Mama really doesn't feel very well,” she said, glancing at her mother again.

“I'll make sure she's all right before I leave,” Sarah promised. “Now tell me, when Isaiah came to your room, did he—”

“Who?”
Grace asked, interrupting.

“Isaiah,” Sarah said. “Isaiah Wilkins, the boy who came to your room.”

Grace wrinkled her nose in disgust. “He never came to my room. I'd never even
talk
to Isaiah Wilkins. He's mean!”

“Is Isaiah the one who . . . the one you told me about?” Mrs. Linton asked Sarah raggedly.

Sarah nodded, not taking her eyes from Grace's face. “If it wasn't Isaiah, then who came to your room?”

She glanced at her mother, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I promised not to tell. He'll get in trouble.”

“No, he won't. I promise, Grace, and it's important that you tell me who it was.”

She considered, idly pleating the fabric of her skirt as she weighed the options. “I don't want to get him in trouble, because he's my beau. We might even get married someday,” she added shyly. “That's what he said.”