Murder on Waverly Place (31 page)

John Sharpe was there, and Mrs. Decker was introducing him to Maeve. From the look on his face, he thought she was somebody’s maid, too, but Mrs. Decker didn’t care a fig what he thought and neither did Maeve. Frank could hear clocks around the city striking the hour. Cunningham would be late, of course, if he showed up at all.

The Professor was opening the door to someone, and Mrs. Burke came in. She looked pale and drawn and slightly terrified, especially when she saw Frank. He nodded politely.

“What is he doing here?” she fairly squeaked to the Professor.

“Madame asked him to come,” he said with obvious disapproval.

“Mrs. Decker is in the parlor,” Frank said, hoping to distract her. He succeeded.

She scurried away, not even waiting for the Professor to escort her, and Frank could hear Mrs. Decker’s welcome.

“Where is Madame Serafina?” the Professor asked.

“I don’t know. She had some things to do.”

“The boy, is he really dead?” the Professor asked.

“She identified his body.”

The Professor looked as if he wanted to swear but remembered just in time where he was. “If he’s dead, then why are you here?”

“Madame asked me to come,” he said, repeating the Professor’s own words without a trace of irony.

They could hear Mrs. Burke’s voice, shrill and too loud from nervous tension, “I didn’t know Mr. Decker had a niece.”

The Professor frowned. “That girl . . .” he said, then shook his head.

The doorbell rang again. The Professor muttered something under his breath and went to answer it.

Frank waited as he admitted Cunningham. The young man was only a few minutes late, which meant he must be eager to see Serafina again. He’d have realized she no longer had to answer to Mrs. Gittings, and he probably wanted to make his case to her again about why she should become his mistress.

The Professor greeted him, but Cunningham wasn’t paying attention. “Where’s Madame Serafina?” he asked, looking around, and then he saw Frank. “What are you doing here?”

“Madame asked him to come,” the Professor said with a touch of irony before Frank could reply.

“Why? Are we in danger?” he asked in alarm.

“Not at all,” Serafina said. They all looked up to see her emerging from the kitchen. Her color was high, her cheeks fairly glowing, and her amazing eyes sparkled with some inner light. She carried herself like a queen, and Frank stared admiringly as she moved gracefully down the hallway toward them. “We are all perfectly safe, are we not, Mr. Malloy?”

Frank wasn’t so sure about that, but he said, “Yes, you are.”

But no one was listening to him. The other two men only saw Serafina. She held out her hand, and Cunningham took it in both of his.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said breathlessly.

“I am glad to see you, too. Please, come inside and greet the others.”

She had to tug a bit to reclaim her hand from his eager grip, but then she turned, and he followed her into the parlor. Frank followed, too, but stopped, hovering in the doorway and aware that the Professor was hovering just behind him, listening intently to what she might say.

Everyone greeted Cunningham, and Sharpe made a remark about how he was only five minutes late. Everyone chuckled politely.

“We are all a little nervous today,” Serafina said when they were finished greeting the newcomer. “But we have nothing to fear. I asked Mr. Malloy to come, but now that I am here, I know that everything will be fine. I can feel it. The spirits are surrounding us, protecting us.”

“I thought he was here to tell us he found whoever killed Mrs. Gittings,” Cunningham said with a frown.

“The boy who did it is dead,” the Professor said over Frank’s shoulder.

The three people to whom this was news gasped, and the others stared at him in surprise.

“Do you mean that Italian boy who worked here?” Sharpe asked.

“That’s right,” the Professor confirmed. “Mr. Malloy had arrested him, but he managed to escape and now . . . Well, they found his body, didn’t they, Mr. Malloy?”

“That’s right,” Malloy said, loath to agree with the Professor about anything but unable to think of a reason to lie.

“How did he die?” Mr. Sharpe asked with obvious disapproval. “I hope it wasn’t at the hands of the police.”

Frank could have taken offense, but since many people had died at the hands of the police while in custody, he chose not to argue the point. “No, he was beaten to death before we could find him.”

“So there is no longer any danger,” Mrs. Burke said with palpable relief. “Nothing to worry about at all.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Sharpe assured her.

Frank glanced at Serafina and was surprised to catch her eyes burning with anger in the moment before she got control of herself again and smiled sweetly. “We are in no danger here. I told you, the spirits are surrounding us with protection. That is why I will ask Mr. Malloy to leave us. We do not need you here.”

Frank looked around to see the reactions. No one protested. No one wanted the police around if they didn’t have to be. In fact, they were all looking at him as if he were a skunk at a picnic, except Maeve, who was staring at the Professor with the oddest expression on her face, as if she wanted to knock him over the head with a vase. Maybe he had accused her of being a maid. “If you’re sure you won’t need me,” he said.

“Why should we need you?” Cunningham said with forced bravado.

“If you’re
sure
, Madame Serafina,” Frank repeated, ignoring Cunningham.

“I am, Mr. Malloy. Thank you for your help.” She gave him a gracious nod of her head, and Frank turned to see the Professor had already fetched his hat and was holding it out to him.

In another moment, he found himself on the front stoop with the door closed securely behind him. He saw Mrs. Decker’s carriage waiting down the street and headed for it. By the time he reached it, the driver was helping Sarah out.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said, unreasonably happy to see her, considering the circumstances. Although, he had to admit, these circumstances were far better than many they’d been in. At least no one was in danger of getting murdered today.

“Good morning, Mr. Malloy. Why are you smiling?”

He hadn’t realized he was and quickly stopped. “No reason. Serafina told me the plan.” He glanced around and saw they were almost to the corner. They’d have to walk down the side street to the alley and then half a block back to the back door of the house. “Are you ready for a little stroll?”

“I’d be delighted.” She took his offered arm, and they started down the street.

“We arranged that Mother would move the front curtain when they started into the séance room, so I would know when it was safe to make my entrance. I saw it move just after you came out. What was going on inside?”

“Did you know Maeve is your cousin?”

“Yes, that was the story we decided on.”

“I thought she looked very nice, but the Professor knew her for what she was the instant he saw her.”

“He can probably smell an Irish girl a mile away,” Sarah sighed. “I don’t suppose it matters, though, so long as they let her into the séance.”

“They’ll do whatever Madame Serafina wants. Serafina told the Professor that Nicola is dead, and he told everyone else that Mrs. Gittings’s killer was dead.”

“Why would he do that?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“Because they were nervous about being in the house with the killer still running loose, I guess. Or maybe he was just happy Nicola is dead and wanted to let everyone else know, too. Anyway, when they heard the killer was dead, they wanted me to leave, so I did.”

“How rude of them,” she said sympathetically.

Frank stopped when they reached the alley. “I forgot to count the houses.”

“I did while I was waiting,” she assured him. “We don’t want to go barging into the wrong kitchen.”

“No, we don’t,” he agreed. He had to admit he was enjoying walking along with Sarah’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm, as if they belonged together. But if Maeve didn’t belong with those people in the house, Frank Malloy certainly didn’t belong with Sarah Decker Brandt. Under any other circumstances, he would never even know a woman like her, much less be her friend and . . . well, and whatever else he was to her. He couldn’t even think about what she was to him.

“This is it,” she said. “Yes, I remember those curtains in the kitchen window.”

Frank opened the back gate, and they made their way up the flagstone path that had been overgrown with weeds last summer and was now covered with their withered remains and the first green shoots of this spring’s crop. Sarah was the first to the back door, and it opened easily. She gave Frank a conspiratorial grin and then slipped inside. He followed, ready to do very quiet battle with the Professor for possession of the kitchen.

But when they got inside, the room was empty.

“Where is he?” she asked in a whisper.

Frank shrugged. “Maybe he’s in there.” He pointed to the curtained alcove. He stepped over and pulled back the curtain, but no one was in there either. He shrugged again.

Without a word, she went to the wall opposite the back door and started to remove a picture hanging there. He hurried to take it from her. When he’d set it on the floor, he saw her pulling a plug of cotton wool from one of two holes. She pointed to the other one, and said, “Stand close to it so the light doesn’t shine into it.”

He pulled the cotton wool out of the other hole and peered through. He had a perfect view of the séance room. Serafina had just put out the gaslight and was closing the door. He could see everyone seated around the table, their hands clasped just the way Serafina had demonstrated. Maeve was looking all around, taking in every detail of the room in the last seconds before the door closed, plunging them into darkness. She’d probably learned that from her short stint as a Pinkerton Detective a few weeks ago.

Then the room was dark, and Frank and Sarah could see nothing, but after a few moments, when Serafina had taken her place again, she spoke, and they could hear her clearly.

“Yellow Feather, are you there? What do the spirits have to tell us today? Yellow Feather, speak to us.”

Someone at the table murmured something, and Cunningham called out, “Is my father there? I need to speak with him!”

Serafina kept calling for Yellow Feather, pleading with him to make his presence known, and just when Frank thought maybe the spirit guide wasn’t going to cooperate, he heard her make an odd sound, and suddenly a new voice started speaking, one he’d never heard before.

“This is Yellow Feather. I am very confused,” the voice said. A man’s voice, but not the voice of either of the men in the room. “So many spirits, too many, all shouting, all wanting to be heard.”

Frank looked at Sarah, and she gave him a nod, telling him everything was as it should be.

“Is my father there?” Cunningham asked desperately.

“Soon, soon,” Yellow Feather soothed. “You must be patient. A new spirit is here. I have never seen him before. He is looking for someone, someone young. Are you there?”

“Is it me?” Cunningham asked. “I’m here, Father!”

“Who is it? Who are you?” Yellow Feather asked, sounding uncertain.

Someone moaned, a plaintive sound that gave Frank gooseflesh, although he never would have admitted it.

“The new spirit is searching. He is old, very old. And rich.”

“It’s my father!” Cunningham insisted. “It must be!”

“No, no,” Yellow Feather moaned. “No, I am seeing money, much money, but it does not belong to him. He only pretends to be rich. He lies. He lies to steal money from people.”

Frank glanced at Sarah, but she looked as puzzled as he.

“He is old,” Yellow Feather was saying. “No, not old, not very old, but he says he is old. He calls himself the . . . the Old Gentleman.”

Sarah’s breath caught, and when he looked at her, her eyes were wide with surprise. She put her hand over the hole in the wall and whispered, “Maeve’s grandfather played the Old Gentleman in the Green Goods Game.”

Now Frank’s eyes widened in surprise. When had Sarah come by that interesting piece of information? She had some explaining to do when this stupid séance was over.

“I see money,” Yellow Feather was saying. “A lot of money, and blood. There is blood on the money, and the Old Gentleman is dead. Someone killed him.”

“Who is he?” Mrs. Burke asked in alarm. “Why is he here?”

“He has a message for someone,” Yellow Feather said. “He wants to say . . . Maeve! Maeve, are you here?” Yellow Feather’s voice rose with desperation.

“Yes,” someone said faintly. Was it Maeve? Was she terrified? Too frightened to speak aloud?

“Maeve, he wants to tell you something. He has a message for you.”

“Who killed him?” Maeve asked, not sounding at all frightened. “Tell me that! Who killed you? Say his name!”

Yellow Feather moaned. “I can’t hear him. Too many spirits. They are all shouting. They all want to speak through me, but I can’t—”

“Is Mrs. Gittings there?”

Sarah started. That was her mother’s voice.

Yellow Feather gave a chilling moan. “I do not want to speak to her.”

“Let her speak,” Mrs. Decker insisted. “Can she tell us who killed her?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, please don’t!” Mrs. Burke cried.

“So many spirits,” Yellow Feather complained. “I am so tired.”

“No, no, you must find my father before you go!” Cunningham cried.

“Someone is here, someone new . . .” Yellow Feather’s voice broke, and he made some strangled sounds. “He wants to speak. He’s trying so hard to speak.”

Suddenly, a piano started to play. The notes were slow and uncertain, as if the player was just learning. Frank looked at Sarah. She covered her peek hole again and whispered, “It must be the Professor playing the gramophone.”