up with a good possibility. He hadn’t yet seen Mrs. Blackwell, so he couldn’t judge her character.
She considered this for a moment. “No, they don’t. In fact, a woman from that class in society who is known to have taken a lover becomes a social outcast. It’s simply too dangerous to risk.”
Frank gave her a murderous frown for getting his hopes up, but she simply shrugged apologetically.
“All right, Malloy, you told me you’d have the killer locked up yesterday. If Mrs. Blackwell and her imaginary lover didn’t do it, who did? That harmless little man, Mr. Potter?” she asked sarcastically.
“Never assume anyone is innocent, Mrs. Brandt. That’s the best way to end up looking foolish.”
She opened her mouth to say something that was probably outrageous, when someone knocked on the door, distracting them both.
“Yes?” Frank called.
The parlor doors opened, and Amos Potter stepped in. “Excuse me, but I was wondering how Mrs. Blackwell is doing.”
Sarah Brandt smiled sweetly, probably thinking Potter was merely a concerned friend of the family. Frank had a feeling Potter’s interest in Mrs. Blackwell was more than just friendly, however. He was just too solicitous.
“Mrs. Blackwell is just fine,” Sarah said, “although she’s very tired and has asked not to be disturbed anymore today.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on disturbing her,” he hastily assured her. “I’m sure I wouldn’t dream of… I mean, well, I did want to let her know the plans for Edmund’s funeral, of course. We must have some sort of wake. He has many admirers, and his patients will want to pay tribute to him for all he’s done.”
“When were you planning to have the funeral?” Frank inquired, thinking this would be a good opportunity to look at all of Blackwell’s acquaintances at once. The person who killed him would most likely be among them, unless his son really was the killer. In that case, Calvin Brown wouldn’t very likely be in attendance since he would probably be a thousand miles away by now.
“I thought we’d have it tomorrow, since it’s Saturday and… Well, that is, I already put it in the newspaper, so we will have it here tomorrow at ten o’clock. Just a small memorial service, you understand. There won’t be a viewing, of course. I mean, under the circumstances, and with poor Edmund… Well, in any case, people need an opportunity to mourn. I know Mrs. Blackwell won’t be able to attend, but I’m sure it will be a comfort to her knowing Edmund is being honored appropriately.”
Not necessarily, Frank thought cynically, but he said, “Shouldn’t you have checked with Mrs. Blackwell before making arrangements to have an event in her home?”
Potter seemed offended at the very suggestion. “Mr. Symington told me to proceed with the arrangements. I felt that was all the authority I needed. I assure you, Mrs. Blackwell will not be troubled in the slightest. Her well- being is my foremost concern, and I would never do anything that might cause her distress.”
Frank could believe that. The man seemed
Potter’s round face grew red. “It would not be appropriate for you to question people during a funeral, Mr. Malloy. No one there will know anything anyway. You’d do better using your time to search for young Calvin.”
“Who’s Calvin?” Mrs. Brandt asked, and Frank winced. He’d been trying to keep her out of this, and now Potter had hooked her right in.
Frank considered trying to brush off her question, but she’d never allow that. He could tell by the expression on her face that she was like a hound on the scent now. In any case, Potter was already telling her everything she needed to know.
“Calvin Brown. He’s a young man who had a… a certain grudge against Dr. Blackwell. I believe he is the one who killed Edmund,” he added with more authority than he had any right to feel. At least he hadn’t given her all the dirty gossip, Frank thought.
She turned to Frank expectantly. “If this man is the killer, why haven’t you arrested him yet?”
“Because no one knows where he is,” Frank replied, managing not to sound testy. It was a pure act of will.
“Oh, my, that is inconvenient, isn’t it?” she asked without a hint of sympathy.
“Very,” Frank agreed.
“If you could find him, you probably could have arrested him yesterday by, oh, I don’t know, say by nightfall,” she said.
Frank gave her a thin smile that she returned with a smirk.
“Oh, yes,” Potter was saying, although no one was paying him any particular attention, “I’m sure this boy is the one who killed poor Edmund. He had an appointment with him that afternoon, and no one else was even in the house at that time. The servants had the afternoon off, and Mrs. Blackwell was out doing her visits. Who else could it have been? And now, of course, he’s nowhere to be found. I’m sure that proves his guilt, the fact that he’s vanished. Don’t guilty men usually flee?” he asked Frank.
“If they can,” Frank replied. At least Mrs. Brandt would think the killer was beyond their reach. Maybe she would lose interest in the case or maybe there wasn’t really a case at all. Either possibility would keep her out of it.
This pleasant thought was interrupted by a commotion out in the hallway.
“What on earth?” Potter muttered, but Frank beat him to the door.
When he slid it open, he saw Granger confronting a roughly dressed boy of about sixteen who seemed determined to gain entry into the house over Granger’s equally determined efforts to keep him out.
“There is a police officer here,” Granger was saying with unmistakable warning. “Must I summon him?”
“Summon whoever you want, you old windbag,” the boy said. “I come to see my father, and I ain’t leaving until you tell him I’m here!”
“What’s going on here?” Frank demanded, and Granger half turned to acknowledge him.
“This young man is obviously at the wrong house,” he told Frank. “He insists on seeing his father, even though I have assured him there is no such person here. He was here the other day, too, and I had to run him off then as well.”
Frank looked the boy over. “What’s your name, son?”
The boy pulled himself up to his full height, making him still half a head shorter than Granger. “My name is Calvin Brown.”
4
Sarah heard Amos Potter gasp, and then he said, “That’s him! The one I told you about. Arrest him, Malloy!”
The boy’s face blanched, but he didn’t look particularly intimidated. Quite the contrary, he looked even more defiant than he had before. “Arrest me for what?” he challenged. “Ain’t no crime to come to see your old man!”
“Who is his father?” Sarah asked of anyone who would listen.
Young Calvin was the only one listening. “He’s Eddie Brown, but that’s not what he calls himself these days. Calls himself Edmund Blackwell, but that don’t change who he is, does it?”
It took Sarah only a moment to judge that the woman upstairs, who was the current Mrs. Blackwell, could not possibly have given birth to this boy. She was no more than five years older than he, if that. Dr. Blackwell had a very interesting history, if Sarah was any judge, but she could tell from the look Malloy was giving her that she’d better not inquire too closely into the subject just now.
Malloy stepped forward, forcing Granger to stand aside so Malloy could confront the boy. “Dr. Blackwell is
