usurp her position in Frank Malloy’s life. Malloy might not be interested either, but at least he would listen. And if Sarah was wrong, as well she might be…
“Next time I come, I’ll bring you some cookies, Brian,” she tried. The boy was riding his horse up the side of the sofa and didn’t respond.
“Next time!” Mrs. Malloy huffed. “What makes you think you’d be welcome?”
Sarah smiled sweetly. “Not a thing,” she admitted. “But I would appreciate it if you would tell Mr. Malloy that I stopped by. If you do, I won’t have to come back again.”
There, that might be just the motive the old woman needed. But probably she wouldn’t have been able to resist venting her spleen on Malloy over Sarah’s brazenness in calling on a man without so much as an invitation. Whatever her reason, Mrs. Malloy was sure to complain to her son about Sarah, which would, in turn, bring him right to her door. Satisfied that she had accomplished her mission in coming, she took her leave. Brian hardly noticed.
SARAH WAS GLAD she’d bought an extra chop and a loaf of bread at the Gansevoort Market a few blocks away when she saw the man sitting on her doorstep. He didn’t look particularly pleased to be there, but Sarah had expected that. She was pretty sure she could coax him out of his bad mood if she cooked for him, though. It had worked once before.
“Mrs. Brandt!”
The familiar voice distracted Sarah from Malloy’s glowering expression, and she turned to see her neighbor peering at her through her partially opened window. Nothing happened in the neighborhood that Mrs. Elsworth didn’t see and note, and someone as large and formidable as Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy was certainly noteworthy.
“I knew someone would be coming today. I had bubbles in my teacup this morning,” she reported.
“Bubbles?” Sarah echoed in amusement.
“Yes, a sure sign that visitors are coming. Or at least one visitor, in this case. I didn’t think you’d mind if he waited, or I would have told him to be on his way. It’s that police detective, isn’t it? He hasn’t been around in a while.”
The question Mrs. Elsworth was too well bred to ask was fairly screaming for an answer, but Sarah felt compelled to discourage her nosiness since she hadn’t been able to do a thing to quell her superstitions. “No, he hasn’t been around in a while,” Sarah confirmed, “and it’s perfectly fine that he waited for me. I need to speak with him. But maybe you just had some soapsuds in your cup. Did you ever think of that?”
Not waiting for a reply, Sarah strolled on down the sidewalk to where Malloy now stood beside her front stoop, glowering furiously.
“Good evening, Mr. Malloy,” she said. “It was so good of you to come.”
He looked as if he’d like to throttle her, but she was fairly certain he wouldn’t, at least not with Mrs. Elsworth watching.
“What did you think you were doing this afternoon?” he asked, his voice rough but pitched low, so he couldn’t be overheard.
“I was visiting your son, and a delightful boy he is, too.” She’d passed him and gone on up the steps, leaving him no choice but to follow unless he wanted to shout at her.
“My mother almost had a stroke, she was that upset,” he told her as she unlocked her front door.
Sarah could believe it. “She thinks I’ve set my cap for you, Malloy,” she informed him wickedly, pushing the door open.
“Your mother thinks I’m looking for a husband,” Sarah explained, closing the door behind him, “and she obviously believes you’re a good catch, so naturally, she wasn’t very happy to see me, but you can assure her I am no threat to your independence.”
Malloy planted his hands on his hips and made every attempt to intimidate her. She had to admit, he almost succeeded. Malloy could be horribly intimidating when he set his mind to it. “That’s not what she was going on about,” he informed her. “She said you upset the boy.”
“Brian?” she asked, genuinely shocked. She should have guessed Mrs. Malloy would lie to make her look bad to her son. “He wasn’t upset. In fact, he was very happy when I left. Did he show you the horse I gave him?”
“He didn’t show me anything. He was sitting in a corner, banging his head on the wall when I got home, and the old woman was screaming like a banshee.”
“Oh, my.” Sarah frowned, trying to figure this out. Brian had been blissfully happy when she left, and would have remained so as long as he had his new toy to play with. Was it possible? Could the old woman have been cruel enough to take the toy away to upset the boy for his father’s sake? Of course she could, if she believed she was protecting her family from a she-devil, which she obviously did. “Well, then, you’d probably enjoy having your supper in some peace and quiet. Lucky for you I got some extra meat.”
“Mrs. Brandt!” he called after her as she made her way into the kitchen.
Sarah turned back just before disappearing through the doorway. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about why I went to the trouble to get you over here?”
Frank swore under his breath as he watched her go. What on earth had possessed him to come here tonight? He should have remembered what an infuriating piece of baggage Sarah Brandt could be. Oh, she was smart and a damn fine-looking woman, but Frank had never considered intelligence a particularly attractive trait in a female, and beauty is as beauty does, as his mother would have said. He couldn’t have cared less why she wanted to see him, and he felt obliged to tell her so. Besides, she’d left him standing in her office with its strange instruments and equipment, and the mere sight of those things made his flesh crawl.
He found her stoking the fire in her stove. “Mrs. Brandt-”
“It’s too hot in here. Why don’t you go sit on the back porch and wait. I have a little table set up out there to catch the breeze, and I poured you some beer.” She nodded toward a tall glass of amber liquid sitting on her table. “My neighbor makes it,” she explained with one of her sly grins when Frank registered surprise.
Maybe he was being too hasty. He’d tell her whatever it was he intended to tell her
By the time she set his plate in front of him, he’d mellowed somewhat. Maybe it was the beer or maybe it was the peacefulness of his surroundings. Her back porch overlooked the tiny patch of ground that passed for a yard in the city. Sarah Brandt had filled that patch of ground with flowers of every description. Their beauty and fragrance disguised the stench and bleakness that stretched in every direction outside the boundaries of her fence.
She’d fried up a pork chop and some potatoes and onions. Bakery bread completed the meal, and Frank realized he was starving. She sat down opposite him at the small wicker table she’d placed on the porch, still smiling the way she did when she thought she knew something he didn’t.
“Somebody’s been murdered,” he guessed, trying to wipe that grin off her face. He found it far too disturbing.
To his relief, she frowned. “The sister of one of my patients, a girl named Gerda Reinhard. She was only sixteen. Her family doesn’t have any money, and her sister is afraid her murder will never be solved.”
“She’s probably right,” Frank said before allowing himself to taste the meat. It was juicy and tender, not fried to shoe leather the way his mother would have done.
That really made her frown. “I thought maybe you could help.”
He gave her a look that usually turned hardened criminals into quivering, terrified jelly, but she didn’t bat an eye.
“I promised her sister that I’d find out what I could, at least,” she said. “Can you at least tell me if there are any suspects? If the police think they know who did it or something?”
Frank took another bite of the meat and told himself he was only asking for trouble. There was nothing he could do for this girl’s family, and it was cruel of Sarah Brandt to let them think otherwise. Still, he heard himself say, “What happened to her?”
“They found her in an alley. Someone had beaten her and-”
