Murder on Mulberry Bend (29 page)

When Sarah finally reached the mission, she was already exhausted, and she still had the costume party tonight. The city would be alive with ghosts and goblins as soon as the sun set. Sarah hoped she’d have time for a short nap before Richard called to pick her up. At least her mother had been able to supply her with a costume, so she hadn’t had to worry about that.

Sarah’s knock was answered by Maeve, who didn’t look pleased to see her. “Mrs. Wells is busy,” she informed Sarah.

“I’ll wait then,” Sarah said, undaunted. Whatever Maeve may think, Sarah knew that no matter how busy Mrs. Wells might be, she wouldn’t refuse to see someone who had provided so much financial support for the mission. “I have something very important to discuss with her. Would you please tell her I’m here?” she added, managing to insinuate herself into the house without actually knocking Maeve over in the process.

Sarah heard a giggle and looked over to see Aggie sitting on the stairs, watching with amusement.

“What are you laughing at, you little brat?” Maeve asked her.

Aggie didn’t even flinch. She knew she had nothing to fear from Maeve.

“I’ll wait in the parlor,” Sarah informed the girl, who should have already invited her to do so.

Maeve went off in a huff. Watching her go, Sarah had a horrible thought. What if Maeve was the killer? She’d admitted she was glad Emilia was dead, and she had no love for anyone at the mission except Mrs. Wells. And if she wasn’t the killer, someone else here undoubtedly was.

Suddenly, annoying Maeve didn’t seem like a wise move. Sarah would certainly have to be careful from now on.

The sound of another giggle distracted her, and she saw Aggie still sitting on the stairs, watching her. “Would you like to keep me company while I wait for Mrs. Wells?” she asked the girl.

Aggie nodded and followed Sarah into the parlor. The girl wore a shabby dress that was too big for her, but it was perfectly clean and neatly patched. Her brown hair had been carefully braided, and her face scrubbed until it fairly glowed.

Sarah set down her medical bag and took a seat on the sofa, inviting Aggie to sit beside her. Instead, the girl crawled into her lap, which suited Sarah just fine.

“You look very nice today, Aggie,” Sarah said, settling the child more comfortably. “Who fixed your hair?”

The little girl smiled, showing her tiny teeth, but didn’t answer, of course.

“Did Maeve fix your hair?”

The smile vanished and the little head shook no.

“Did Mrs. Wells?”

She nodded.

They proceeded like this for a while in a strange, one-sided conversation. Sarah learned that Aggie liked Emilia and missed her, but she didn’t like Maeve at all. She enjoyed playing in the yard with the other children from the neighborhood, and she liked living at the mission. Sarah also discovered that whoever had left Aggie at the mission wasn’t her mother or her father. When Sarah asked her what had become of her parents, her answer was a shrug and no indication of any emotion. She didn’t know where they were and apparently had no memory of them.

“You’re a very lucky girl to have come here,” Sarah told her.

“She certainly is,” Mrs. Wells said as she came into the room. “I hope you haven’t been bothering Mrs. Brandt, Aggie.”

“Oh, no,” Sarah assured her. “We’ve been having a lovely visit, haven’t we, Aggie?”

The child nodded vigorously, making Sarah smile. But when she looked up, Mrs. Wells was frowning. Before Sarah could wonder why, her expression lightened again.

“Maeve said you had something important to discuss with me,” she said. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

Sarah wanted to remind her that one of her girls had been murdered and nothing could be more wrong than that, but Aggie was there. Besides, it would be rude. Instead she said, “Perhaps we should close the doors ... and send Aggie out to play.”

Intrigued and concerned, Mrs. Wells lifted Aggie from Sarah’s lap and stood her on her feet. “Run along outside now with the other children,” she told the child, shooing her out. “I mean it,” she added. “Remember what I told you about listening at doors.” She waited until Aggie’s footsteps died away, then pulled the parlor doors shut and turned back to Sarah. “You said nothing was wrong.”

“Nothing new,” Sarah said. “It’s just ... Detective Sergeant Malloy and I were discussing Emilia’s murder, and he had a question I couldn’t answer. I was hoping you could.”

Mrs. Wells had grown appropriately solemn. “I thought Mr. Malloy was no longer investigating Emilia’s death.”

“He’s not, but I’m still concerned, naturally. We were just discussing the facts we knew, and I recalled you said one of the girls heard Emilia say she wished Ugo could see her in her new outfit.”

For a moment, Sarah thought she would deny it, but then she appeared to remember. “Oh, yes, I’d almost forgotten,” she said cautiously. Sarah couldn’t blame her for being cautious when they were discussing her girls.

“Do you remember which girl it was?”

She didn’t answer right away. After a moment, she asked, “Do you believe this Ugo killed Emilia?”

“It’s certainly a possibility,” Sarah said tactfully. “We just thought it might be a clue.”

“How could it be a clue?”

Sarah always got into trouble when she lied. “We think ... that is, I don’t believe Emilia actually said that.”

Now Mrs. Wells was really confused. “Why not?”

“Because from what the other girls have told me, Emilia hated Ugo and wouldn’t have wanted to see him.”

Mrs. Wells gave her a pitying smile. “Mrs. Brandt, women who have been abused often profess to hate their abusers. Unfortunately, and for reasons I shall never understand, they also seem irresistibly drawn to them. Emilia herself went back to Ugo a second time, even after he mistreated her. If he had professed a renewed desire to have her, I’m afraid she might have returned to him yet again.”

Sarah herself knew this to be true. “We do know, however, that Ugo didn’t kill Emilia,” she explained. “In fact... Well, I’m not quite sure how to say this. I know it will be difficult for you to believe, but ... we think Emilia was killed by a woman.”

“A woman?” she echoed, apparently stunned.

“Or a girl,” Sarah clarified. “I’m so sorry, but we think one of the girls here at the mission killed her.”

The blood had drained from Mrs. Wells’s face, and Sarah hurried to her side. “Are you all right? I’ve got some smelling salts in my bag, if you — ”

“No, please,” she said, stiffening her back and lifting her chin. She took a few deep breaths and the color slowly returned to her cheeks. “Really, I’m fine. It’s just ... such a shock.”

“I know,” Sarah agreed, sitting back down on the sofa. “I didn’t want to believe it myself, but there seems to be no other explanation.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what led you to this conclusion. I can’t believe ... It’s impossible!”

Sarah told her about the hat pin and how it had been used to kill Emilia.

“But how would someone know that would kill her?” Mrs. Wells asked. “How would a
girl
know it?”

“When we find the killer, we can ask her,” Sarah said.

“And how will you find her? I’m sure no one is going to simply admit it.”

“She won’t have to. I think you know who the killer is, Mrs. Wells.”

Mrs. Wells’s expression collapsed into despair. “I?”

“Yes. Remember I asked you about the girl who told you Emilia wanted Ugo to see her new dress? I think she made that story up so when you told it to the police, they would think Ugo was the killer. I think that girl is the killer, Mrs. Wells, and you’re the one who knows who she is. Who told you that story?”

Sarah watched the play of emotions across her face as she struggled with her desire to protect the living and her duty to find justice for the dead. “I thought... but you say it had to be a woman,” she murmured, absently rubbing her temple as if to ward off a headache. “I’m trying to remember exactly ... But it couldn’t have been Maeve,” she insisted finally.

“Was Maeve the one who told you?” Sarah asked, feeling a chill.

“Yes, but she couldn’t have killed Emilia. She was here at the mission. She couldn’t have left without anyone knowing!” Before Sarah realized what she was doing, Mrs. Wells rose and threw open the parlor door and called, “Maeve!”

Instinctively, Sarah rose to her feet, ready for whatever might happen.

“Maeve, come here at once!” Mrs. Wells called again, and Sarah could hear the patter of running feet.

Maeve skidded to a halt in the parlor doorway, and Mrs. Wells pulled her inside and slammed the door shut behind her. “Did you tell me that Emilia wanted Ugo to see her in her new dress the morning she was killed?”

Maeve looked terrified, her eyes so wide Sarah could see a rim of white all the way around. “I ... no, ma’am, I never.” She glared at Sarah. “I told Gina that when she asked me, too.”

Fortunately, Mrs. Wells didn’t ask what she meant by that. “But you did tell me she was going to see her lover, didn’t you?” she pressed.

Maeve looked at her uncertainly, obviously wanting to please her but uncertain exactly how she could do that. “I ... no, not her
lover.
Her mother. She wanted her mother to see her dressed up fine.”

Of course!
Now Sarah remembered that Gina had said something to that effect just before she’d noticed the blood on the hat pin. The shock had driven it completely from Sarah’s mind. “But why would she have gone to the park to see her mother?” Sarah asked. “She only lives down the street.”

Mrs. Wells turned to Sarah. Her face looked as if it were carved from stone. “Her mother sells paper flowers there.”

Sarah felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“Mrs. Brandt, are you all right?” Mrs. Wells asked in alarm. “Surely, you don’t think ... her own mother?”

Sarah remembered Emilia’s mother and how much she had hated the baby girl she believed had been spawned by rape. Had Emilia sought her out in the park that morning to flaunt her new respectability? Had old hatreds overwhelmed her? “I don’t know,” she lied. The idea made too much sense and explained all the strange details of the case. “But I’ll have to tell Mr. Malloy. If she did, he’ll find out.”

“God help her,” Mrs. Wells said.

S
ARAH HAD TO LEAVE YET ANOTHER MESSAGE FOR Malloy at Headquarters, but this time, at least, he wouldn’t be angry. He wasn’t likely to get it until Monday, though, so she would have to go to his flat tomorrow and leave one for him there, too. That would give her a good reason to visit Brian, which she’d been wanting to do anyway. She would’ve gone there right away except she had to get home to dress for the Halloween party she was attending with Richard Dennis. Why had she agreed to that? Probably, because she hadn’t realized she would be so close to solving a murder at this particular time.

As it was, Sarah couldn’t have felt less like socializing. She hadn’t liked Mrs. Donato very much, but she didn’t like learning she was a murderer, either. No matter how many times she was faced with evidence to the contrary, Sarah still wanted to believe mothers loved their children.

Sarah had to ask for Mrs. Ellsworth’s help in getting into the costume her mother had loaned her. She’d thought modern clothes were cumbersome, but the French Queen Marie Antoinette had borne the added burden of an enormously elaborate hairstyle.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed when she saw the wig. “Did women really put battle scenes in their hair back then?”

“The French had an odd notion of style, I suppose,” Sarah said, examining the miniature naval battle depicted in a cavern constructed in the foot-high mound of the wig. The dress itself was bizarre enough, with its full skirt, tight lacing, and décolleté neckline. Her mother had also insisted she wear the beauty patch on her cheek.

Sarah picked up a comb to part her hair so she could start wrapping it tightly around her head to go under the wig, but Mrs. Ellsworth cried out a warning that startled her into dropping it on the floor.

“Good heavens,” the old woman said, picking up the comb and placing it out of Sarah’s reach. “You can’t comb your hair at night. It’s bad luck!”

Wasn’t anything safe to do around Mrs. Ellsworth? “How am I supposed to get this wig on then?” Sarah asked in exasperation.

“You can use a brush, of course,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “That’s why women only brush their hair at night: Here, let me help you.”

Sarah agreed with a sigh, telling herself she was irritable only because she didn’t want to go to a party.

By the time Mrs. Ellsworth had placed the wig on her head and helped her fasten it securely in place, she looked as if she’d escaped from a museum painting.

“I certainly hope Richard appreciates this,” Sarah said in disgust.

“I’m sure you’ll be the most beautiful lady at the party,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “You really should try to smile, though.”

That did make Sarah smile. “Have I been terribly grumpy?”

“Just a bit,” the old woman said tactfully. “If you really don’t want to go, I’m sure Mr. Dennis would understand.”

“It’s not that. I’m just ... Well, I’ve discovered who killed that girl, the one who was wearing my clothes.”

“I’d expect that to make you happy,” Mrs. Ellsworth said with a puzzled frown.

“I’d expect it, too,” Sarah said with a sigh.

She was saved from explaining by a knock on the door.

“That will be Mr. Dennis,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I’ll let myself out the back door. Have a wonderful time!”

After thanking her neighbor for her help, Sarah carefully made her way to her front door, learning how to balance the contraption on her head and not knock anything over with her skirts at the same time. She opened the door to a tall Napoleon. He grinned broadly when he saw her. “You look magnificent.”