Murder on Sisters' Row

“I know,” he said grimly.

“Then why do you look the way you always look when you’re going to yell at me for doing something you didn’t want me to do?”

“I never yell at you,” he protested.

She crossed her arms. “All right, if you aren’t here to yell at me, then why are you here?”

His expression was pained, as if he’d had a hard time at the dentist’s office, and the words sounded as if they were being pulled from him like a bad tooth. “I came because I need your help investigating Mrs. Van Orner’s murder.”

Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she knew better than to tease him about it. He wouldn’t be here if he weren’t desperate. “You know I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Do you have time for some lunch first? We were just going to eat.”

“I’d be honored,” he said with just the slightest trace of irony.

The girls were both thrilled to have him, and Catherine told him all about the tiny cakes Mrs. Decker had brought for her tea party—she called them “patty fours”—and Malloy pretended to be mightily impressed. Sarah didn’t want to talk about the murder in front of the child, so she waited until they’d eaten and she’d changed her clothes and allowed Malloy to escort her from the house.

This was going to be a very interesting afternoon.

MALLOY COULDN’T BELIEVE HE WAS DOING THIS. HOW many times had he sworn he’d never let Sarah Brandt get involved in another murder investigation, and here he was, asking for her help.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they made their way down Bank Street. He always forgot how good hearing her voice made him feel, even when she was saying something that completely infuriated him.

“To the rescue house.”

“Do you know where it is?” she asked in surprise.

“I was there this morning.” He had to swallow down his frustration. “They wouldn’t let me in.”

Sarah started coughing, and he knew it was to keep from laughing out loud. “I see,” she finally managed.

“I’m sure you do. I believe you were the first person who warned me about that.”

“But not the last?”

“No, Miss Yingling did, too. She did give me the address, though.”

“I suppose you thought the power of your office would overcome their objections.” She was smirking.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” he warned her, only half joking. “I’ve had a pretty bad morning.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Tell me all about it.”

Frank sighed. “Well, I guess it started last night, when I went over to the Van Orner house.”

“I’m sure they were happy to see you.”

“Oh, yes. Van Orner was drinking himself into a stupor, but he gave me permission to investigate his wife’s death. He even offered me a fee.”

“Oh, dear.” She knew how sensitive he was on that subject. “But at least he wants it solved. That probably means he didn’t do it.”

“Probably. And I found out Mrs. Van Orner’s dirty little secret.”

“Dirty?” Sarah asked uneasily.

He wondered what she was imagining. “She drank.”

“She what?”

“She drank. Miss Yingling—that’s her secretary—”

“I know Miss Yingling.”

“Miss Yingling explained how Mrs. Van Orner didn’t like to let other people see her when she’s mad or upset, so she carried a flask around with her. When she started feeling out of sorts, she’d take a little swig or two to make herself calm again.”

He waited, but she didn’t say anything. “You don’t seem real surprised. Did you know she was a drinker?”

“No, I didn’t even suspect, but I’m afraid it’s far too common among women who have too much time and too much money to spend.”

“How can you have too much time?”

“When you have days and days to fill and nothing meaningful to do except visit with other women just like you who also don’t have anything meaningful to do except gossip about the women they know who aren’t with them at the moment.”

“I always thought it would be fun to be rich.”

“Maybe it is for men. They can get into politics or business or whatever interests them. Women have to sit at home and plan parties and knit socks for the poor. I might’ve taken up drinking myself if I hadn’t managed to escape.”

“So that’s why Mrs. Van Orner started rescuing whores.”

He’d expected to get a rise out of her with that, but she just looked unhappy.

“What is it now?” he asked.

“Mrs. Van Orner may have had another reason for her charity work.”

Frank remembered she said she’d been gossiping with Mrs. Decker. “What did your mother tell you?”

“She didn’t know Mrs. Van Orner drank, but she did say that their friends always claimed Mrs. Van Orner tried to rescue prostitutes because her husband was so fond of them.”

Frank overcame the strong urge to swear.

“I suppose this means you’re sure Mrs. Van Orner was murdered,” she said after a moment.

“Yes. The medical examiner said she was poisoned, and they found laudanum in her flask.”

“Laudanum? Oh, dear.”

“What is it?”

“It’s probably nothing, but when Amy arrived at the rescue house, she was nearly hysterical, and Mrs. Van Orner suggested giving her laudanum to calm her down, so they must keep some on hand.”

“That’s pretty common.” Almost every home in New York would have a bottle of laudanum handy to treat everything from headaches to tuberculosis.

“Laudanum is awfully bitter,” she said suddenly. “Why didn’t Mrs. Van Orner notice the taste?”

“Probably because it was mixed in with her favorite drink, creme de menthe. It’s a liqueur,” he added when she gave him a puzzled look.

“I know what it is. It just seems like an odd choice for secret drinking.”

“According to the medical examiner, it’s popular with ladies because it tastes so good, unlike whiskey and its near relatives.”

“I just remembered, she always carried peppermints with her. That would account for the minty smell of it on her breath, too.”

“And the strong flavor would’ve covered up the bitterness of the laudanum. Doc Haynes said it only takes two or three spoonfuls of the stuff to kill you.”

“It’s very dangerous. Suicides often use it because it’s cheap and easy to find and works so quickly and painlessly. Could Mrs. Van Orner have committed suicide?”

“I guess it’s possible,” Frank said, “but I don’t have any reason to think so yet. I have to find out what happened at the rescue house that day.”

“Which is why you need me to go with you.” He could tell she was trying not to gloat, but he guessed she couldn’t help it.

Frank swallowed down his frustration again. “Tell me what you know about the women in this house.”

“I don’t know much. I told you about Amy. She’s the girl whose baby I delivered. An Italian girl named Lisa manages the place. I didn’t meet anyone else who lives there.”

“What about a Mrs. Spratt-Williams?”

“She’s one of Mrs. Van Orner’s followers, I guess you could say. She helps with the rescues. Was she at the house yesterday?”