Murder on Waverly Place (29 page)

“Or maybe she just wants to go to a séance,” Malloy countered.

“I don’t like the idea of her playing Mrs. Gittings’s part,” Sarah said with a frown.

“You can’t think someone would try to harm her,” Mrs. Decker said. “No one there even knows her.”

“I know, but still . . . I just feel uneasy about it.”

“Maeve can take care of herself,” Malloy reminded her.

Sarah remembered exactly how Maeve had taken care of herself just a few short weeks ago and shivered involuntarily. “I just wish we could be in the room during the séance, in case something happens.”

“We can be on the other side of the cabinet,” Malloy said reasonably. “We’ll hear everything that happens, and we can be in the room in a minute if we’re needed.”

“But what if the killer decides to . . .” Sarah stopped, trying to think of possible scenarios.

“What if he decides to do what?” Malloy prodded her. “Kill Madame Serafina? I think the killer was trying to help her by killing Mrs. Gittings, so why would he want to kill Serafina now? Nobody even knows Maeve, so she’s safe, and what reason does anybody have to kill any of the others? Also, nobody knows who the killer is, so nobody else is in danger of betraying him.”

“I know you’re right,” Sarah admitted.

“Of course I am,” he said without a trace of humility.

She glared at him. “I just hate the thought of her sitting there in the dark, helpless.”

Malloy considered this a moment. “I think I have something to make her a little less helpless.”

“Not a weapon,” Sarah protested.

“No, something better.”

Before she could question him, Maeve and Serafina returned to the kitchen. Maeve handed an envelope to Malloy. “This is for the Professor.”

“Is it going to make him run?” Malloy asked with a doubtful glance at the envelope.

“No, it should make him want to stay,” Serafina said. “I tell him I am going to keep doing the séances because I have no other way to support myself, and he is the only one who can help me.”

Malloy nodded his approval and tucked the envelope into his coat pocket.

Maeve handed Mrs. Decker a second envelope. “This is for Mrs. Burke.”

“I hope you haven’t frightened her too much,” Mrs. Decker said, accepting the envelope cautiously, with just two fingers, as if afraid it might explode.

“No, only a little,” Serafina assured her. “Just enough so she will come. I also told her I would not charge her for the sitting.”

“She’d be a fool to miss that opportunity,” Mrs. Decker said.

“Serafina, we were just discussing what Mr. Malloy and I should do during the séance,” Sarah said.

“You must do nothing. The others should also not know you are there. They will suspect something.”

“We thought we could go into that room behind the cabinet and listen to what’s happening.”

“No, no,” Serafina said. “If you open the false door during the séance, they might hear you. There is a better place to listen, in the kitchen. I will show you tomorrow.”

“What do you want me to do?” Maeve asked.

“Just be sure you are holding Mrs. Burke and Mr. Sharpe by the hand and do not let go. Mrs. Decker and I will be holding their other hands. Mrs. Decker and I will also be holding Mr. Cunningham’s hands.”

“You also must make sure no one lets go or keeps one hand free,” Sarah warned them.

“And what are you going to do?” Malloy asked Serafina.

She turned her amazing eyes on him for a long moment, then let her gaze drift until she’d touched everyone at the table with her silent power. “I am going to contact the spirits and ask them who the killer is.”

They could not get her to say more or to make any more plans. Serafina insisted she would not know what to do until she heard what the spirits told her.

Frustrated and weary with all of it, Malloy finally took his leave. “I need to go see the Professor before it gets too late. Maeve, will you see me to the door?” he asked.

The girl eagerly complied, leaving Sarah feeling unreasonably slighted. Maeve returned a few minutes later, looking oddly pleased, and Sarah wondered what he had needed to see her alone about. She would have to wait until much later to ask her.

 

 

 

T
HE PROFESSOR MUST HAVE BEEN WATCHING FOR VISITORS because he opened the door almost the instant Frank knocked.

“Have you found him?” the Professor demanded.

“Aren’t you even going to invite me in?”

The Professor stood back and waved him inside with ill-concealed impatience. “Have you found him?” he asked again as soon as he’d closed the front door behind them.

“Are you talking about DiLoreto?”

“Of course I am.”

“Not yet,” Frank lied. He saw no reason to go against Serafina’s wishes.

“Then why are you here?”

With a sigh of annoyance, Frank pulled Serafina’s note out of his pocket and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” he demanded, accepting it with suspicion.

“Read it and find out.” Frank turned away and wandered into the parlor in spite of not having been invited to make himself welcome. This time he paid closer attention to the furnishings, and this time he could see that everything looked slightly shabby and thrown together, as if the items had come from an auction of mixed lots, bought cheap and with an eye to filling space rather than comfort or style.

“She’s coming back tomorrow?” the Professor asked from the parlor doorway. He still held the note in his hand.

“That’s right. She’s invited everybody who was at the séance where Mrs. Gittings was killed to come back for another one. She wants you to have everything ready.”

“Does this mean she’s free?”

“She’s always been free.”

“I thought you were . . . holding her,” he said with a frown.

“I told you before, she wasn’t arrested. She was just staying with Mrs. Brandt for a while, but now she wants to start doing the séances again. She probably needs the money.”

“The boy didn’t contact her then,” he said with some satisfaction. “I didn’t think he would. Once he got the money, he didn’t need her anymore. He didn’t need any of us anymore.”

“But you still need Serafina, don’t you?” Frank asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked, suddenly wary.

“I mean the boy stole all the money you had. Without Serafina, how else can you make a living?”

“I would manage,” the Professor said, drawing himself up to his full height and gathering his dignity around him.

“Like you managed before you found her?”

Now he looked insulted. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing at all. I was just wondering how you made your living before you met up with Mrs. Gittings and Serafina.”

“I am a professor of philosophy,” he lied. He’d told Frank before that it was a courtesy title. “I have taught at some of the great institutions of learning in our country.”

“Name one,” Frank challenged.

“Harvard,” he replied without hesitation, knowing that Boston was far away and such things could not be quickly or easily verified.

“Why aren’t you teaching now?”

The man’s lips thinned, but he didn’t lose his composure. “I am retired.”

“You retired from being a professor so you could answer the door and collect money from people going to a séance?” Frank let a faint note of contempt color his words.

“Madame Serafina is doing important work. You couldn’t possibly understand, but I felt compelled to assist her in any way I could.”

“Does that mean you gave up your plan to bankroll a Green Goods Game?”

Surprise flickered across his face, but he quickly concealed it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Malloy, but I’ve never enjoyed games of chance, if that’s what this Green Game is.”

“That’s funny,” Frank said, not at all amused. “I thought you looked like the kind of man who liked taking a risk every now and then.”

“Not at all. Now I must ask you to leave. I have a lot to do before tomorrow. When will Madame Serafina arrive?”

“She told everybody to come at ten,” Frank said. “She’ll probably be here before that.”

“I’m sure she will. You may assure her that everything will be in readiness.” He moved to the front door and opened it, standing expectantly while Frank made his way more slowly, pretending to take an interest in the artwork hanging in the hallway.

“I’ll do that,” Frank said.

 

 

 

M
UCH LATER, AFTER MRS. DECKER HAD GONE OFF TO deliver Serafina’s note to Mrs. Burke and supper was over and Mrs. Ellsworth had paid a visit so she could find out what had been going on all day with Sarah’s steady stream of visitors, Sarah finally found a moment alone with Maeve. Serafina had gone to bed early, claiming she needed to be rested for the next morning.

“Catherine is asleep,” Maeve reported when she found Sarah still sitting in the kitchen. “She just couldn’t settle down tonight. I think she’s as excited about the séance tomorrow as we are.”

“I’m not exactly excited,” Sarah confessed.

“You’re not worried, are you?” the girl asked in surprise, taking a seat at the table across from Sarah.

“Not worried exactly, but I don’t like the idea of you sitting in for a woman who got murdered.”

“No one wants to kill me,” Maeve said with compelling logic. “Besides, Mr. Malloy is going to give me something tomorrow that I can use if things get out of hand.”

“What?”

Maeve frowned. “I’m not exactly sure. He tried to explain it to me, but it sounded more like one of Serafina’s séance tricks than something the police would use.”

“Is it a weapon?”

“No, it’s a light of some kind, but it has a battery, so you don’t need a match to light it.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how a light could help if something went wrong, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt. “What do the police use it for?”

“I think they use it at night. Some fellow invented it, but nobody wanted to buy it, so he gave some to the police. Mr. Malloy said the beat cops who work at night like it.”

“I guess they would appreciate having a light now and then,” Sarah allowed. She waited a moment, to see if Maeve had anything to add. Then she asked, “What do you think of Serafina?”

Maeve’s expression turned wary. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure what I mean, but Mr. Malloy asked me to find out what you thought of her. Do you think she can really contact the spirits?”

“I don’t believe in spirits, but I think
she
does. Or maybe she’s just a very good actor.”

“So she hasn’t said anything to you to make you think she’s a fake?”

“Oh, no,” Maeve assured her. “She’s real proud of her powers, and she wants everyone to believe they’re real. But there’s one thing . . .”

“What?” Sarah prodded when she hesitated.

“Have you noticed, she doesn’t seem real sad about that Nicola dying. It’s almost like she forgot about it as soon as she got back here.”

Sarah considered. “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right. She was nearly hysterical at the morgue this morning, but I guess that’s understandable. It’s a horrible place. It’s true, she hasn’t seemed to be grieving, but people sometimes behave strangely when someone dies. Maybe she’s still in shock.”

“Or maybe she didn’t like him all that much,” Maeve said.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Still, they were lovers. She must have cared about him a little.”

“Or
only
a little. I asked her what was going to happen to him now, and she seemed surprised, like she hadn’t even thought about it. When my grandfather died, that’s the first thing I wanted to know, where was he going to be buried.”

“You’ve never talked about your family before,” Sarah said in surprise. She hadn’t wanted to press her for fear of bringing up unpleasant memories, but now that Maeve herself had opened the subject, Sarah found she was curious to learn as much as she could about this girl who had become her friend.

Maeve’s gaze shifted away and darted around the room, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Sarah in the eye. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Oh, Maeve, nothing about your family could ever make me think less of you. I told you before, you’re part of
my
family now, and nothing will ever change that.”

Maeve looked down at where her hands rested on the tabletop. “Even if they were crooks?”

“Even if you were a crook yourself,” Sarah assured her.

She looked up in surprise at that. “I can pick pockets,” she confessed suddenly. “But I don’t do that anymore. Not unless I have to, that is.”

Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the strange confession. “Of course not.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, if I needed to help Mr. Malloy or something.”

“I understand. How long ago did your grandfather die?” Sarah asked to change the subject.

Maeve’s expression grew wary again. “Almost two years ago.”

Sarah heard something in her voice, something that begged her to continue, even though good manners forbade her to pry. “How did he die?”

“He was . . . murdered.”

“Oh, Maeve,” Sarah cried, reaching out to cover the girl’s hands with her own. “I’m so sorry!”

But Maeve just stared back at her, dry-eyed. “Remember when you were telling us about the Green Goods Game?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

“That was his game. He played the Old Gentleman.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say to that.

“Mrs. Gittings was right about it, too. It can be dangerous,” Maeve continued. “And not just when a mark gets suspicious.”

“A mark?”

“A sucker, the ones who come to buy the green goods. Sometimes the operators argue among themselves. That’s what happened. One of them thought Grandpap was cheating him. He wasn’t, Mrs. Brandt. I swear he wasn’t!”