Murder on Waverly Place (22 page)

Mrs. Ellsworth asked dozens of questions during Sarah’s narrative as the four of them sat around Sarah’s kitchen table, but Maeve just listened quietly, her expression unreadable. She was especially attentive when Sarah was describing the Green Goods Game.

When Mrs. Ellsworth finally ran out of questions, Maeve spoke up at last. “What does this Professor look like?”

They all looked at her in surprise.

“He’s tall and very dignified,” Sarah said. “Like a butler in a fine house. Dark hair with some gray at the temples.”

“That is powder,” Serafina said.

“What is powder?” Sarah asked, confused.

“The gray in his hair. He thinks he looks more respectable with gray in his hair.”

“How odd,” Mrs. Ellsworth remarked. “Most people don’t want their hair to turn gray.”

“Why did you want to know what he looked like?” Sarah asked Maeve.

“No reason,” she said, although Sarah was sure she had a good one. “Are you and Mrs. Decker going to visit those people tomorrow?”

“We’re going to see Mrs. Burke first thing, but not Mr. Sharpe and Mr. Cunningham. After we thought about it, we couldn’t figure out any way it was proper for us to visit a widower and a bachelor.”

“Oh, my, that certainly
wouldn’t
be proper,” Mrs. Ellsworth agreed.

“How are you going to question them, then?” Maeve asked.

“Mr. Malloy is going to see them.”

“But I thought he couldn’t question them without risking his job,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.

“He’s going to pretend that he’s just trying to get more information to use against Nicola.”

“But what if they refuse to speak with him?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

Sarah sighed. “Then I guess we’ll have to figure out something else.”

“You could have another séance,” Maeve said, surprising them again.

“Another séance?” Sarah echoed.

“Yes,” Maeve said, leaning forward eagerly. “From what you said, they’ll both want to see Serafina again as soon as they can. They probably are both still very interested in their own plans for her. One of them might have killed Mrs. Gittings just so he could do that very thing! So why not give them the chance?”

“I could invite them for a private reading,” Serafina offered.

“I thought you didn’t want to go back to the house,” Sarah reminded her.

“Not for another séance, but I could do the reading in a different room,” the girl said bravely. “I want to help Mr. Malloy.”

“And Mother and I could be there to engage them in conversation,” Sarah said.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “Perhaps Mr. Malloy will find out all he needs to know without our help.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sarah said fervently.

 

 

 

F
RANK DECIDED TO CALL ON JOHN SHARPE FIRST. CUNNINGHAM didn’t strike him as the type to rise early. Sharpe lived in a tastefully large town house on a quiet, tree-lined street just off Park Avenue. A maid answered the door, a plump Irish girl with a plain face and a fancy starched apron who knew exactly what he was, and she didn’t want to let him inside. She acted like she was afraid he’d try to steal the silver or something.

“Just tell Mr. Sharpe that Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy is here. I need to give him some information about Madame Serafina.”

“I’m sure Mr. Sharpe don’t know no
Madame
anybody,” she sniffed.

“Just tell him what I said. I’ll wait,” he added, shouldering his way inside before she could slam the door in his face.

She gasped in outrage, but short of screaming for help, she had no option but to leave him standing in the entry hall while she went to announce his arrival.

Frank looked around while he waited. Somebody with good taste had chosen the furnishings. A lush carpet covered the floor and ran up the stairs. The wallpaper had fancy swirls in shades of brown, and several chairs that looked like they’d come from a castle sat against the wall, in case visitors got tired while they waited. Frank was admiring one of the large paintings of country scenes when he heard the maid hurrying back down the stairs.

“This way, if you please,” she said, her chin high and her nose higher. She wasn’t going to apologize for doubting him, and she wasn’t going to be one ounce more polite than she needed to be.

He followed her up the stairs to a parlor where Sharpe was waiting for him, and she closed the door behind him.

Sharpe stood with his back to the cold fireplace, legs apart, hands clasped behind him, his expression defensive. He wasn’t going to be one ounce more polite than he had to be either. “You have news about Madame Serafina?” he said the instant the door closed. “How is she?”

“She’s very well,” Frank said, looking around with interest. This was a formal parlor, a room seldom used. The velvet-upholstered furniture looked like nobody had ever sat on it, and the bric-a-brac cluttering every flat surface seemed well dusted but seldom admired.

“Where have you taken her?” Sharpe demanded.

“I haven’t taken her anywhere,” Frank said.

“The Professor said you did. She isn’t at the house, and he claimed he didn’t know where she’d gone.”

“When were you there?” Frank asked curiously.

“Yesterday. I . . .” He seemed a little embarrassed. “I went to see if she needed anything.

“She doesn’t,” Frank said. “When she’s ready to see clients again, I’m sure she’ll let you know. Do you mind?” he added and took a seat on the nearest sofa before Sharpe could say if he minded or not.

Plainly, he did. He hadn’t intended for Frank to stay longer than it took to find out where Serafina was hiding. He wasn’t going to object, though, not until he had the information he wanted. “When is she coming home?”

“As soon as I find Mrs. Gittings’s killer,” Frank said.

“I thought you’d already found him.”

“How did you know that?” Frank asked. Sharpe had left the house before they’d even known DiLoreto was in it.

“The Professor told me yesterday. He also told me you let him escape,” he added with more than a trace of disapproval.

Frank felt a flash of irritation, but he knew better than to let Sharpe see it. “We’ll find him,” he said with more confidence than he had any right to feel.

“He could be anywhere by now,” Sharpe snapped. “You’ll never find him.”

“We’ll find him,” he repeated belligerently. “He won’t leave town without the girl.”

Sharpe’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“He’s in love with Madame Serafina,” Frank said. “Didn’t you know?”

“So what if he is?” Sharpe challenged. “The Professor said he was nothing more than a servant. Madame Serafina would never waste herself on a man like that.” He didn’t sound very certain, though.

Frank didn’t press the issue. “Mr. Sharpe, would you mind answering a few more questions while I’m here? I need to make sure we have all the information we need so that when we do find this DiLoreto, we’ll be able to make a case against him.”

“I already told you everything I know,” he protested.

“I’ve found out some more information since then, and I need to check the facts with you, to make sure you saw the same things everybody else did. It will only take a minute,” he added apologetically.

Sharpe muttered something under his breath, but he chose one of the stiff-looking chairs near Frank and perched on it. “What do you want to know?”

Frank reached into his coat and pulled out his notebook and pencil and made a little show out of finding the right page. He could hear Sharpe making impatient noises, but he didn’t allow himself to be hurried.

“When you went into the séance room, did you see anybody except the people sitting around the table?”

“Of course not.” This was a stupid question, and now he was annoyed.

“Did you see the Professor before the séance started?”

“Of course. He answered the door when I arrived and showed me into the parlor, just as he always does.”

“Did you see him after that?”

Sharpe frowned. “I saw him after the séance, when we realized Mrs. Gittings was dead.”

“But not before that?” Frank prodded. “Didn’t he escort you into the séance room?”

“I’m sure he did,” Sharpe said, fuming. “That was his usual practice.”

“But are you sure he did that day?”

Sharpe frowned, disturbed that Frank was making him think about all of this again. “I couldn’t swear to it, no,” he finally admitted.

“And later, when did he come into the room?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t paying any attention to him.”

“You said he was standing in the doorway when everyone started leaving the room.”

“Then that must have been when I saw him.” He was growing exasperated now.

“So you didn’t see him until after Madame Serafina opened the door and called for him?”

“No, I didn’t. I don’t see what any of this has to do with—”

“Do you remember hearing a violin playing during the séance?”

“A what?”

“A violin. Some of the other people in the room remember hearing a strange noise during the séance, like a violin.”

Sharpe frowned again, trying to remember. “I think there was something. The spirits often make odd sounds. I was listening to what Yellow Feather was saying, so I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.”

“Do you remember if you heard the noise through the whole séance?”

“No, I don’t, and I can’t see that any of this will help you find that boy who killed Mrs. Gittings.”

“Madame Serafina said you’d been to lots of spiritualists before you came to her.”

Sharpe stiffened in surprise. “What business is that of yours?”

“None,” Frank admitted obligingly. “I was just wondering if you’d figured out some of the tricks they use. A lot of them are fakes, you know.”

“I certainly do know,” Sharpe said indignantly. “You wouldn’t believe the balderdash some of them told me.”

“Did they try to pull tricks on you, too?”

“Oh, yes. Knocking and table rocking and floating spirits. Parlor tricks, all of it.”

“But not Madame Serafina,” Frank said.

“No, she didn’t stoop to using any of those things.” Frank wasn’t going to argue with the man. “And I guess she couldn’t do any tricks with people holding her hands like that during the séance.”

“Oh, she could have if she’d wanted to,” Sharpe said knowingly. “They all make their clients hold each other’s wrists, but it’s easy enough to get a hand free in the dark.”

So Sharpe did know that trick. “But you don’t think Madame Serafina did that?”

“I can’t think why she would have to,” Sharpe said confidently.

“Madame Serafina told me you wanted her to leave Mrs. Gittings so you could keep her,” Frank said, catching him off guard.

He’d deliberately made it sound disreputable, and Sharpe instantly took offense. His face flooded with color. “Watch your tongue,” he ordered Frank. “Madame Serafina is a respectable young woman, and I had no intention of ‘keeping’ her, as you so crudely put it. I wanted to provide an establishment for her so she could use her talents without having to worry about supporting herself.”

“What’s wrong with supporting herself?” Frank asked innocently.

Plainly, Sharpe thought it was very wrong. “She was . . . That woman was taking advantage of her, turning her talent into a carnival sideshow.”

Frank supposed that Sharpe had no idea Serafina used to tell fortunes on street corners, which was probably a step or two below carnival sideshows. “What did Mrs. Gittings say when you told her you wanted to take Madame Serafina away?”

Sharpe’s eyes narrowed in remembered fury. “She wouldn’t believe that I was only interested in Madame Serafina’s spiritual talents. She thought . . . Well, she thought I wanted her for immoral purposes, and she said some very rude things.”

“Was she willing to let the girl go for a price?” Frank asked, remembering what the Gittings woman had offered Cunningham.

“Absolutely not. She was getting rich from the business, and she wasn’t going to let Madame Serafina go.”

Frank nodded. Sharpe could probably easily afford to meet the price she’d quoted Cunningham, and he wouldn’t have fallen for some phony investment scheme. No, he would be far more dangerous, so she’d have to refuse him outright. “Didn’t you try to convince Madame Serafina to leave her anyway?”

“Of course I did, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said she owed everything to Mrs. Gittings, and she couldn’t leave her.”

“That’s touching,” Frank observed, earning a glare from Sharpe.

“Touching or not, she refused my offer, and nothing I said could convince her.”

“You were sitting right next to Mrs. Gittings at the séance, weren’t you?”

Instantly, Sharpe was back on guard again. “I already told you that.”

“Did you notice anything strange during the séance?”

“Do you mean did I know someone stabbed her to death?” he replied sarcastically. “No, I did not.”

“She didn’t cry out or jerk or squeeze your arm or—”

“No, I told you. I didn’t notice anything until she let go of my wrist and fell to the floor.”

“And you’re sure nobody else was in the room besides the people at the table?”

“No,” Sharpe said, annoyed again. “I told you, no one else was there.”

“Then how do you think the boy killed her, if he wasn’t in the room?” Frank asked with a puzzled frown.

Sharpe gaped at him in surprise. “I . . . The Professor said . . . I suppose he must have gotten in somehow,” he tried.

“How?” Frank asked, genuinely curious. “Was it a parlor trick, do you think?”

“No, of course not,” Sharpe said impatiently.

“Then how did he do it? Everybody said no one was in the room when they got there, and no one could come in by the door without everyone seeing him. So how did he get in to kill her? You see, that’s the first thing they’ll ask at his trial, and I have to have an answer.”