“I should be,” Mrs. Murdock said. “She delivered this baby. It was the midwife, Mrs. Brandt.”
Sarah was looking at the cold ham and stale bread in her larder and wondering if she dared hope Mrs.
Ellsworth would drop in with something more appealing for supper when someone rang the doorbell. Hastily, she sliced off a bit of the ham and popped it into her mouth. If this was a delivery call, she wouldn’t get any supper at all.
She heard the girls running to answer the bell, so she quickly took a few more bites before making her way to the foyer. Before she arrived, however, she’d already heard the familiar voice and knew she wouldn’t be going on a call.
Frank Malloy was teasing the girls, and Aggie and Maeve were responding gleefully.
“Malloy,” she said in greeting, but when he looked up at her, she saw instantly that he was furious. She tried to remember what she might have done to merit such a response, but she couldn’t think of anything.
“Is Mrs. Ellsworth here?” he asked gruffly.
“No, she’s not,” she answered, confused by the question.
“Girls,” he said, his tone switching instantly back to pleasantness, “why don’t you go next door and pay her a little visit. I need to speak to Mrs. Brandt alone.”
Sensing his anger, the girls sobered, and Maeve hastily shoved Aggie into her jacket and ushered her out the front door. At the last second, she hesitated, looking back at Sarah. “What if she isn’t home?”
“Then take a little walk,” Sarah said, forcing a smile before Malloy closed the door behind her. “Whatever is the matter?” she demanded anxiously when it clicked shut.
“What were you doing down on Howard Street yesterday?” he demanded gruffly.
So that was it! She’d known he wouldn’t approve, but this reaction was way out of proportion to her offense. “I went to see Mrs. O’Hara, as you must have figured out,” she explained.
“What in God’s name for?”
She’d seen him this angry, but never at her. “I thought . . .
that is, I wanted to be sure she understood everything she’d need to know to take care of the baby.” She hated sounding defensive. It was a perfectly legitimate concern. He didn’t have to know she was also trying to convince Mrs. O’Hara to give up the idea of claiming the child.
“That’s a pretty story, but I know you too well, Sarah.
And you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent liar!” she claimed, earning a derisive glare.
“Why did you really go down there? No, wait, let me guess. You thought you could convince her to stop trying to get the baby away from the Ruoccos.”
“Why would I do a thing like that?” she asked, aware that he was right: she was a terrible liar.
“Because you’re a meddling do-gooder who can’t mind her own business,” he informed her, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
“Somebody has to put a stop to this,” she argued. “Mrs.
O’Hara can’t keep the baby healthy in that place, even if Tammany Hall does give her the money they promised.
And if she stops fighting for the baby, Tammany will back off and the riots will stop.”
“I doubt Tammany would have even let her change her mind. They had too much at stake, and they couldn’t let the Italians win, no matter what she wanted.”
“Well, she refused to even consider it.” Sarah said with a sigh. “So no harm done.”
This seemed to make Malloy even angrier. “Oh, harm was done, all right. A lot of harm was done, because Mrs.
O’Hara is dead.”
“Dead!” Sarah cried, covering her mouth. Tears stung her eyes. “How could that happen? I just saw her —”
“Yesterday. Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here. A lot of people were only too happy to tell us they saw you going to visit the murder victim. Near as we can figure, you were the last visitor she had.”
“Good heavens!” She looked into Malloy’s dark eyes and saw the rage boiling there. “You don’t think I killed her, do you?”
“No, but I should lock you up on suspicion just the same. At least I’d know you were safe. What if you’d been there when the killer came?” He was shouting now. “It could’ve been your blood splattered all over that kitchen along with hers!”
Sarah cried out in protest, tears filling her eyes as the truth of it washed over her in a sickening wave. Then Malloy’s strong arms were around her, holding her with a desperate strength as she wept against his chest. His familiar scent enveloped her, and his hands moved across her back, comforting and caressing at the same time.
“Don’t cry,” he begged after a long moment. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She gave a watery laugh at that and raised her head. She found that he was close, dangerously close, so she pulled a safer distance away. He released her with obvious reluctance, and they stood staring at each other for an awkward moment—each wanting the same thing but certain the price the other would have to pay was too high.
Sarah broke the strained silence, swiping away her tears.
“I’m sorry, Malloy. I had no idea.”
For a second, he looked as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Then he ran one over his face, as if to clear his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he admitted. “It wasn’t your fault. Are you all right?”
“I will be.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, wondering how badly her face was blotched. “I could use a cup of tea.”
“I’ll make it for you,” he offered almost gratefully and led her into the kitchen.
True to his word, he made Sarah sit down while he put the kettle on. She was always amazed at how comfortable he was at domestic tasks. He sat down opposite her at the table while they waited for the water to boil.
“You said there was blood . . . splattered blood,” Sarah recalled with distaste. “I guess she wasn’t smothered then.”
“Someone cut her throat,” he said baldly.
She winced, knowing his bluntness was her reprimand.
“How awful.”
“It was fast, at least.” He briefly described what Doc Haynes thought had happened.
This time Sarah shivered. “But who would want to kill her?”
“That’s pretty easy to figure out. Somebody who wanted her to stop trying to get the baby so the trouble would be over.”
“But you said Tammany wouldn’t back down.”
“They were trying to get the baby back for Mrs. O’Hara.
If she’s dead, there’s nobody to fight for. If they did get the baby from the Ruoccos, what would they do with it?”
“Oh,” Sarah said in dismay, realizing that suspicion would fall squarely on the Ruoccos. “Could Ugo have sent one of his men to do it?”
“Maybe, just like he might’ve sent one to kill Nainsi, but it doesn’t seem likely. Yesterday, he was trying to convince me that Patrizia Ruocco was the killer.”
“Mrs. Ruocco?” she echoed in amazement.
“They don’t get along. It started back when Mrs. Ruocco and her family came over from Italy. Her husband, who was Ugo’s brother, couldn’t get into the country because he was sick, so they sent him back to Italy. She stayed here with the kids, and he died alone. Ugo never forgave her.”
“And you think he’s accusing her of murder to get even?
But that was so long ago. What makes you think that’s the reason?” Sarah asked.
“Donatelli says Italians are like that.”
Sarah blinked in surprised. “You don’t believe she did it, do you?”
