dizziness was from the blow she had taken or from the opium in the tea.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Brandt?” Harold Giddings asked solicitously.
“Yes, thanks to you,” Sarah said, opening her eyes to smile up at him. She was sitting at the table in the Walcotts’ kitchen. “Have I told you how glad I am you followed me here?”
“At least three times,” Harold said, taking a seat opposite her. He rubbed his eyes as if trying to erase a vision. “I don’t guess I’ll ever get that picture out of my mind. The dog digging down in the cellar and all that hair. That poor woman didn’t hardly have any skin left on her face.”
“The memory will fade in time,” Sarah said, recalling some of the terrible things she’d managed to push to the back of her memory. “Why did you go in the backyard anyway?”
“After I followed you here, I thought somebody might see me if I was on the street, so I went around back. The cellar doors were open and there was a bunch of dogs in there, digging at something. I could smell something dead, so I figured it was an animal. I scared most of them off, but that one wouldn’t pay me any mind at all. I couldn’t see much, but then the kitchen lights came on. Then I could make out a lantern sitting on the cellar steps. I had to wait until the person left the kitchen. Then I lit the lamp and saw what they’d been digging up… Well, that’s when I started yelling for you to get out of there.”
“Thank heaven you did. She was trying to poison me. I guess I would’ve ended up down in the cellar, too.” Sarah shuddered at the horrible thought. Another terrible thing she would have to make herself forget.
“That’s exactly where you would’ve ended up,” Malloy said, coming in from outside. He was angry, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d almost gotten herself killed. “It would’ve been crowded though. Walcott’s already got two people down there, and we found Catherine Porter’s body in her bedroom. She was wrapped up, ready to go down as soon as it got dark. Walcott already had the hole dug.”
Sarah felt the gorge rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, determined not to be sick in front of Malloy. She was already humiliated enough. “Poor Catherine.”
Malloy made a rude noise. “Poor
He was right, of course, but she certainly hadn’t deserved to die for it. And nobody deserved to be buried in a cellar. “Wait, did you say
“Yeah. The one Harold found was the red-haired girl who used to live here.”
“That must be Francine. Walcott told the other girls that Francine had found a rich husband and moved to the country,” Sarah remembered. “Were there other girls before her?”
“One that I know of. The lady next door told me her name was Cummings or something.”
“Is she the other body?”
“No, it’s a man. Probably the old man who owned this house. Walcott told people he’d sold out and moved away, but apparently, they’d killed him and put him in the cellar.”
Sarah groaned.
“Does your head hurt?” Harold asked. “He hit you before I could get to him.”
“Let’s hope he knocked some sense into her,” Malloy said without the slightest trace of sympathy.
Harold glared at him, but he didn’t notice. He was heading down the hall.
“Where are you going?” Sarah demanded.
“To see if Walcott has recovered enough from Harold’s strong right arm to answer a few questions.”
“I’m going, too!” Sarah said, jumping to her feet. She was instantly sorry. She hadn’t drunk very much of the tea, thank heaven, but enough to dull her senses. That, combined with the elbow she’d taken to her temple, was enough to make her wish she’d risen more slowly from her chair.
“Suit yourself,” Malloy said, but he didn’t wait for her.
“I’ll help you,” Harold said, taking her arm. “I want to hear what happened, too!”
Walcott was sitting in the parlor, hands tied in front of him and looking foolish wearing the housedress with his masculine haircut. A uniformed policeman stood guard over him. Someone had tied a bandage around his forehead, where Harold had struck him with the stick he’d been using to frighten the dogs away. He looked a little woozy and very angry.
“It’s late,” Malloy was saying, “and I’m tired, so please don’t make me exert myself, Walcott. Just tell me the whole story, and that cut on the head will be the worst thing that happens to you tonight.”
Walcott was trying to look bored, but when he saw Harold and Sarah come into the room, his expression hardened.
At first Sarah thought he was addressing her, but then she realized he was glaring at Harold. “Because he came here to the house?” she guessed.
“Anna was a fool!” Walcott said. “She was never satisfied. I told her over and over again not to be too greedy, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“Is that why you killed her, Walcott?” Malloy asked. “Because she was greedy?”
“No,” Walcott said, turning his anger on Malloy. “Because she was stupid.”
“How was she stupid?”
“First she wouldn’t be satisfied with what Giddings could afford to pay her. She made him steal from his company, which drew attention. If they’d pressed charges against him, we would have had the police here in an instant, asking all kinds of questions. And then she picked Nelson Ellsworth. That was the stupidest thing of all.”
“He was a mistake, wasn’t he?” Sarah guessed. “Because he wasn’t married.”
“She was supposed to check!” Walcott shouted. “She just asked some kid on the street who lived in the house. She didn’t bother to find out that the Mrs. Ellsworth who lived there was his
“So that’s why you were so angry with Anna,” she said, earning a black look from Malloy, which she ignored. “Because she’d chosen a man who couldn’t be blackmailed and because she’d drawn attention with Mr. Giddings.”
“She was causing too much trouble, and she wouldn’t stop,” Walcott said coldly. “I had to get rid of her before she ruined us all.”
“Is that why you killed Francine, too?” Sarah asked. “Because she was causing trouble?”
“No, because she got sentimental.” Walcott gave her a condescending glare. “One of her gentlemen friends killed himself, and she started feeling guilty. She even started talking about doing penance for her sins and maybe even going to the police, so I had to silence her.”
“The way you silenced the old man who owned this house?” Malloy said.
“It wasn’t like that,” Walcott said. “The old man wasn’t supposed to die. I’d thought of this foolproof way to make money, and I needed a house. Ellie knew about this old man who had one.”
“Who’s Ellie?” Malloy asked. “Is she buried in the cellar, too?”
Walcott gave him an irritated glance. “Ellie Cunning-ham, and no, she’s not buried in the cellar or anywhere else. I met Ellie when we were in a play together and-”
“You’re an actor?” Sarah cried, earning another black look from Malloy.
“Yes, an excellent actor,” Walcott said smugly. “I fooled
He was right, of course. “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” she said. “Please continue.”
“Ellie and I started this thing together. She charmed the old man into renting us a room. Told him I was her husband. We gave him a little opium to keep him happy so he wouldn’t notice the gentlemen callers Ellie had. We might’ve given him too much, or maybe his time was just up, but one day he just died. We decided no one would miss him, and why should we leave and let the house go to some stranger? So we buried him in the cellar and told people we’d bought the house from him and he’d moved away.”
“What did you do with this Ellie?” Malloy asked.
“Nothing. She got bored and wanted to go back on the stage. She went on tour, and I never saw her again. By then I had Francine, though, so we didn’t miss her.”
“And after Francine ended up in the cellar, you got Catherine and Anna,” Malloy guessed. “What I want to know is why Anna didn’t end up in the cellar like the others.”
Walcott gave him an impatient look. “She was supposed to, but… I gave Francine opium and she died real quick, like the old man,” he said, apparently forgetting his fiction that the old man’s death had been an accident.
