No Comfort for the Lost (25 page)

“Even better, I got names of all the members of the Men’s Benevolent Association. And you’ll never guess who’s on it.” Taylor’s eyes shone with giddy excitement.

“I’m not in the mood to guess, Taylor!”

“Right. Well, Uhlfelder is a member, like he told us. But get this. Wagner’s a member, too. How ’bout that!”

Damn.
Palmer. Eagan. Douglass. Uhlfelder. Wagner.

Knuckles rapped on the office door, and Mullahey poked his head in. “There’s a woman to see you—”

Addie Ferguson shoved past him. “I dinna have time for politeness, Detective Greaves, because you’ve got to help the mistress. She’s gone to Union Square, or maybe the Palmers’, to chase after Miss Barbara, who’s involved in some foul dealings with that Joseph Palmer.”

Nick stood and so did Taylor.

“She says I’m to tell you Miss Barbara has gone to meet with Mr. Palmer, and she’s worried because Miss Barbara saw him that evening and that you’d ken what she meant. Do you ken what she meant?” She wrung her hands while her gaze shot from Nick to Taylor. “And Mrs. Davies has gone on this chase all by herself, with nothing more than a letter opener as a weapon! And she said, she said she’s remembered what was missing. A necklace.”

She hiccuped a sob.

“Now, now, Miss Ferguson,” said Taylor, patting her shoulder.

Briggs strolled through the doorway behind them. “There you are, Greaves. Forgot to give you a message from a Mrs. Davies. Something about Mr. Palmer lying to you.” Miss Ferguson bawled louder and Briggs looked over. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Taylor, take Miss Ferguson back to the house,” Nick ordered, exiting the office. The Palmers had a buggy with red wheels. So long as Celia Davies and her cousin stayed out in the open, where there would be other people about, they should be safe. But if they both took it into their fool heads to go to the Palmers’ house, there was no telling what might happen.

“Don’t you want me to come with you, sir?” Taylor called after him.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a lot more than a letter opener with me.”

• • •

N
ick climbed the office building staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. He’d borrowed a horse and gone to Union Square, but neither Barbara Walford nor Joseph Palmer had been there. The next location to check was Palmer’s office.

He strode down the hall. Palmer’s clerk stood on guard outside the man’s office.

“Mr. Palmer is not in.”

“I think I’ll just check,” Nick said, pushing past him.

“Detective!”

The handle to Palmer’s office door turned in Nick’s hand, and he barged into the room. The smell of cigar smoke hung in the air, but the room was empty.

Nick turned to Palmer’s lackey. “Did a Miss Walford come here?”

“Her again? That woman who was here earlier was looking for her, too.”

“Do you mean Mrs. Davies?” Nick asked.

“She didn’t leave a name.”

“Where is Palmer, then? Where’d he go?” He was wasting valuable time here.

“He didn’t say. He got a message and went out. Two messages, actually. But Mr. Palmer didn’t tell me his plans. Just left.”

Nick bolted out of Palmer’s office and ran back down the hallway.

• • •

B
arbara had not been at Mr. Palmer’s office, and Celia had directed the cabdriver to take her to the Palmers’ house.

The carriage rolled to a halt, gravel crunching. Celia had always admired the Palmers’ quiet location on the western edge of Clay Street Hill, with space—such a luxury—between their home and their neighbors’. She hopped down from the carriage and turned to stare at the Palmers’ house, with its broad pillared porch and deep eaves. If Barbara had decided to look for Mr. Palmer here, the isolated setting went from being admirable to being sinister.

“Please wait for me,” she told the driver, who sat hunched on his seat. She had no idea where else to search, though, if Barbara wasn’t here.

“You’re costin’ me fares, lady.”

“I shall pay you for your time.”

“Expectin’ you will.” He paused to pucker his lips and spit an arc of tobacco juice onto the ground near her feet. “’Cause it’s a long walk back from here.”

Celia passed through the gate. There didn’t appear to be anyone about, and that included Barbara. The lace curtains at the parlor window were drawn open and the room looked empty.

Celia climbed the front steps and knocked on the door. “Mr. Palmer?” she called out, knocking again. “Barbara?”

There was no answer.

The cabdriver perked his brows when he saw her descend the porch steps.

“A few more minutes,” she shouted, hurrying over the flagstone path that flanked the side of the house.

No one was out back, either, not even the Palmers’ maid, Rose. Celia looked up at the house. Perhaps Barbara hadn’t come here after all.

Her gaze settled on the kitchen door and she noticed it had been propped open. “How odd.”

Inside, might she find conclusive evidence linking Joseph Palmer to Li Sha’s death? Or might she find Barbara, unconscious or worse?

I’m sure he wouldn’t hurt me.
Celia hoped her cousin was right.

Celia drew in a breath. She’d need an explanation for what she was doing in the house. If she’d known she was going to be snooping around inside, she could have brought the umbrella Elizabeth had left in Celia’s vestibule stand and claim she’d wished to return it. Perhaps she should say she’d mislaid one of her tortoiseshell hair combs at the luncheon Elizabeth had hosted a few weeks ago. And she could claim that, when no one responded to her knocking, she’d decided to search for it on her own. The next reasonable question would be why she had waited so long to recover the hair comb. Perhaps no one would ask.

With a hasty glance around and seeing nothing more than a pair of finches fluttering among the shrubs and a pony cart wheeling by on a distant road, Celia sped across the veranda and through the door before she could change her mind.

“Hullo? Is anyone at home?” She rested a hand on her reticule and felt the comforting shape of the letter opener, transferred from her pocket, where it had managed to jab her thigh despite her crinoline. “Hullo? Barbara? Rose? Mr. Palmer? Anyone?” She listened for a response and got none.

Celia hastened through the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs to the main bedchambers. Hastily, she opened and shut doors to rooms rich with Brussels carpets, rosewood furnishings, and silk curtains.

“Barbara?” she called out.

The door to the largest bedchamber stood open. Celia stepped through. It had to be Elizabeth and Joseph’s room, large and airy, with a lovely view toward the western hills. Celia darted from chest to wardrobe to bedside tables. Every door and drawer was locked.

“I guess you don’t trust Rose, Elizabeth, do you?”

Celia retreated to the ground floor via the main staircase. She quickly searched the parlor, library, and dining room and was relieved when she didn’t stumble over Barbara’s inert body.

She hurried back to Mr. Palmer’s library, its blinds open to let in the light, the room filled with bookshelves and leather chairs, a mahogany desk and walnut tables. It smelled of lemon wax and cigar smoke. No weapons hung on the walls, but then the Southerners had been forced to give up their weapons after the war. She shouldn’t expect to find a bayonet dangling from a silk cord or stashed behind the cushions.

A flash of color outside the window caught Celia’s eye. Rose was leaning against the property’s far fence, chatting with a neighbor’s servant, which explained why Celia hadn’t noticed her. Rose was standing perfectly out of sight from both the backyard and the front. At some point, though, she would return to her duties. And find Celia in the house.

Celia scanned the room. Mr. Palmer was just as orderly as his wife, not a pen out of place, every piece of paper neatly stacked. She rattled the desk drawers. They were locked, too, meaning she wasn’t going to find clumsily penned love notes from Li Sha or a bill of sale for the silver locket.

She crossed the floral Royal Wilton carpet and thumbed through the books on the shelves. People did hide confidential papers inside books.

Celia heard a creak and halted, holding her breath, but the sound wasn’t repeated.

Moving more hastily now, she entered the parlor to continue her search. Expensive textiles covered tables and upholstered chairs. Freshly cut salmon-colored peonies spilled from ceramic vases. The Palmers had done well in this world, which begged the question why Joseph Palmer would ever endanger that success by murdering a pregnant Chinese woman. Even if he were never prosecuted for the crime, the gossip would irrevocably damage his reputation.

Still, if Li Sha had threatened to reveal their relationship if he did not give her money, he might have become angry enough to kill her. Perhaps they’d arranged to meet that Monday, Joseph Palmer possibly anticipating a resumption of their liaison. Only to discover Li Sha had bribery in mind.

“Was that what happened?” she murmured.

“What did you say, Celia?”

Celia spun around.

“Gad, Elizabeth, you startled me!” she squeaked, her voice pitched as high as if she’d been pinched by corset strings. “Emmeline,” she added, as the girl stepped from behind her mother. “Good afternoon. You are both looking well.”

Elizabeth Palmer stood in the doorway to the parlor, dressed for afternoon visits, her daughter gaping at her side. In truth, Emmeline did not look well at all but had turned particularly ashen.

“What are you doing in our house?” Elizabeth asked. “And whatever happened to your face?”

Celia touched the bruises along her chin. “I fell last night. I am so clumsy.”

Just then, Barbara entered the room. Alive and well.
Thank heavens.
“Why, Barbara, there you are! I was worried when I discovered you’d left the house without telling anyone.”

“We were on our way home from our daily visits,” explained Elizabeth, looking put out, “when we spotted your cousin seated alone on a bench in Union Square. I was confused to see her there, wasn’t I, Emmeline? I thought she was coming this afternoon to stay with us.”

“I explained that I’d needed some air and left the house. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Cousin Celia,” said Barbara, her voice unsteady. “Mrs. Palmer suggested that I come with them right then and send you a note asking Addie to have my bags sent. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Ah yes,” said Celia, calling forth a smile. “So sensible, Elizabeth.”

“I insist you tell me why you’re here, prowling through my home, Celia,” she said.

“I am quite embarrassed to say that I’ve misplaced a hair comb. I thought it might have fallen out when I was here for your luncheon the other week. Do you recall?”

“Of course I remember my luncheon.”

“It was not until this morning that I remembered where it might be,” said Celia, warming to her story. “So I came to the house, found the rear door open, and decided to search for it. I am sorry for the intrusion, of course.”

“Emmeline, have you seen a hair comb anywhere?”

Her daughter, who appeared struck dumb, shook her head.

“I didn’t expect so,” said Elizabeth.

“I was so certain it had fallen out here,” Celia replied, glancing around the room.

“And I am certain Rose hasn’t found one,” insisted Elizabeth. “She is very thorough.”

And then suddenly there was that other thought, the one that had been so elusive until that moment. “How long have you had Rose?”

“Celia, I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” said Elizabeth. “I’m sure your cousin would like to get settled into her room. She’d probably appreciate that you return home immediately and send her things here. Wouldn’t you, Barbara?”

“Why, yes, Mrs. Palmer.”

“You hired Rose only last week, didn’t you?” said Celia. “Tuesday or Wednesday, correct? Which means . . .” Rose was not in the house the night Li Sha died. The Palmers had been between servants that evening, and if Li Sha had come to the house, only the Palmers would know.

Celia felt her breath whistle between her teeth and wondered when the parlor had turned so very icy. “Li Sha did come here to ask for money that evening, didn’t she? Which is why Mr. Greaves has been unable to find whom she approached. Because she came
here
and asked
you
.”

“Mama, she knows,” said Emmeline.

“Hush, Emmeline,” hissed Elizabeth. “She’s asked this before, and I will give her the same response. My answer remains no, Celia. Li Sha did not come here that evening.”

“But I think she did,” said Celia. “She came here wearing the silver locket, the one your husband had given to her as a present, and she asked for money.”

“My husband would
never
give that woman a gift.”

“But he
was
in San Francisco the night she died, wasn’t he, Barbara? Because you saw him here.” Her cousin nodded mutely. “Why, though, did he lie and tell everyone he was elsewhere? Unless he feared the police would start to ask too many questions about that night.”

“He did not lie,” Elizabeth insisted, but her protests were growing more feeble.

Celia continued, “I’d begun to believe that Li Sha had met him in the city somewhere, but she could have come here. And, of course, neither of you would admit that.” Celia had no proof of her hypothesis. Only the agitated look in Emmeline’s eyes, the startled stare of a deer before the gun is fired, told her she had guessed right. “She would get money in exchange for not telling the world the baby she carried was his. The locket was proof of his affection. Rather embarrassing, I would say.”

“And my husband
never
got some prostitute with child!” A flush covered Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I demand you leave. Now! And take your cousin with you!”

Rose scurried into the room from the direction of the kitchen. “Mrs. Palmer, whatever is the matter in here?”

“The necklace,” said Barbara. “Do you think Li Sha’s necklace is here someplace, Cousin? I thought he must have thrown it away.”

“Mama!” Emmeline pressed her gloved hands to her face, trembling so hard her knees buckled. Her mother caught her before she collapsed to the floor. Celia rushed over to help.