“She’s not very sorry Vivian Van Orner is dead. And poor Miss Yingling is mortified that we discovered Amy is living there. She also hinted—very strongly—that she thinks Amy is the one who poisoned Mrs. Van Orner.”
“I thought her running away made her look guilty, but running to Van Orner might even be worse.”
“I thought the same thing. After Mother and I left, I realized I needed to tell Mrs. Spratt-Williams that I’d found Amy. She’s been very worried about her.”
“She’s the only one.”
“Yes, she is. Everyone else wishes Amy would disappear. Amy made a friend in Mrs. Spratt-Williams, though. She told the woman her sad tale, how her father killed himself after financial ruin and her mother sold her to a family friend to become his mistress when she was still a young girl.”
“That is sad, but lots of girls have it much worse,” he reminded her.
“I know, I know. I’m not trying to win your sympathy. I’m just telling you how Amy won Mrs. Spratt-Williams over. I have to say, though, that after Mrs. Spratt-Williams and I talked about it, she also decided Amy was probably the one who killed Mrs. Van Orner.”
“Amy is winning the vote,” he observed.
Sarah folded her hands on the table. “I keep thinking there must be someone else who had a reason that we don’t know about to want Mrs. Van Orner dead.”
“That’s always possible. But if they killed to keep it secret, we aren’t likely to find it out now.”
The coffee started to boil, and Sarah got up to take it off the stove and pour them each a cup. When they were settled at the table again, Malloy carefully examined his spoon.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure I only have one.”
Sarah gave a yelp of laughter before she could stop herself.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked when she had composed herself. “About Mrs. Van Orner, I mean.”
“I have to go see Mr. Van Orner and tell him what I know. He might want to get rid of Amy by charging her with his wife’s murder, but he might not. If he doesn’t, there’s no point in arresting her because he’ll just bail her out and the whole thing will get pigeonholed.”
“It will get what?”
“Pigeonholed. Don’t you know how the courts work?”
“Apparently not.”
“When somebody gets arrested, the judge can set bail. If the arrested person gets bailed out and money is paid to the right people, their case papers get stuck into one of the slots in this big wooden case where they’re supposed to be stored—they call them pigeonholes—except nobody ever takes them out again.”
“You mean the case is forgotten?”
“Completely forgotten. Lots of murderers are walking around free because their case was pigeonholed.”
Sarah hadn’t thought she could be shocked any more by the level of corruption in the city. “That’s horrible!”
“That’s the way it is. So I’ve got to find out what Mr. Van Orner’s pleasure is in this matter, and I have a feeling the pleasure he gets from Miss Amy is going to win out over justice for his wife’s murder.”
“It does seem likely.” Sarah sighed. “But if you’re going to see Mr. Van Orner, you should wait until midmorning tomorrow. Miss Yingling is taking Amy out shopping, and I’m sure you don’t want her around when you’re talking to Van Orner.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
“Well,” Sarah said, brightening, “let’s try to forget all this ugliness for the rest of the day and enjoy ourselves.”
“That’s a great idea.”
The children had a wonderful time, and everyone decided the cake was delicious. Mrs. Ellsworth stopped by to say hello and bring some cookies she had just baked. No one wanted Malloy and Brian to leave, but when the time came, they all gathered in the front hallway to say good-bye.
They were laughing at something Catherine had said when the front doorbell rang.
“Ah, a baby being born, I’ll wager,” Mrs. Ellsworth said as Maeve opened the door.
The young woman on the doorstep seemed taken aback to find so many people staring out at her, but she said, “Mrs. Brandt?”
“I’m Mrs. Brandt,” Sarah said, stepping forward. She realized the girl looked familiar.
“I have a message for you, from Mrs. Spratt-Williams.” Of course, she was Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s maid. She handed Sarah an envelope. “I’m to wait for your answer,” she added.
Sarah opened the envelope and found a note card inside. Written in an elegant hand was an invitation for Sarah to join Mrs. Spratt-Williams for tea the next afternoon to discuss the future of Rahab’s Daughters.
“Tell her I’ll be happy to accept her invitation,” Sarah said. She wasn’t sure how much assistance she could offer, but she was flattered to be asked. If she was summoned to a birth, she’d have to send her regrets, but she’d worry about that if it happened.
TAKING SARAH’S ADVICE, FRANK WAITED UNTIL THE MIDDLE of the morning to call on Gregory Van Orner. The man seemed annoyed at being bothered, and Frank thought he might have been drinking already today.
“I thought Tamar was taking care of all of this,” he muttered, grudgingly offering Frank a seat.
“I thought you’d want to be kept informed of what I’ve found out so far.”
“I suppose,” Mr. Van Orner said, leaning back in his chair as if challenging Frank to make this visit worth his time.
“Your wife died from an overdose of laudanum that someone put into the flask she carried in her purse.”
Van Orner shifted uneasily in his chair. “Flask? What are you talking about?”
This was going to be more difficult than Frank had expected. Van Orner was going to pretend he didn’t know about his wife’s drinking. “According to Miss Yingling and some of your wife’s friends, Mrs. Van Orner carried a silver flask in her purse which contained creme de menthe.”
“What on earth for?”
“To drink,” Malloy said, hoping Van Orner wouldn’t decide to throw him out for speaking ill of his poor, dead wife. “According to Miss Yingling, Mrs. Van Orner would use it to . . . to calm herself when she became upset about something.”
“Good God, no wonder . . . You know, she always smelled of mint. I thought it was those dammed peppermints she was always popping in her mouth.” At least he wasn’t going to tell Frank he was a liar.
“A fatal dose of laudanum is only two or three spoonfuls, and the strong taste of the creme de menthe would have covered the bitterness of the laudanum, according to the medical examiner.”
“So that’s what killed her. I’d been wondering.”
“She might have been saved, but because she was alone in the carriage, and nobody knew she’d taken laudanum—she didn’t even know herself—she died within an hour.”
This still wasn’t making sense to Van Orner. “But who could’ve done it?”
“Someone who had access to her purse and the flask.”
“Her maid,” Van Orner offered. “She has access to everything Vivian owns.”
“Did her maid have any reason to want her dead?”
Van Orner frowned. “Oh, I see. No, probably not. She was devoted to Vivian, too. She’s been hysterical ever since she got the news. Had to call in the doctor to give her something. Laudanum, probably,” he added with a trace of irony.
“Would anyone else in your house . . . who lived in your house
“Not that I can think of. She was never . . . She was always too easy with the servants. I told her a hundred times they took advantage of her.”
“So no one here had a grudge against her?”
“No, no one. But who else could it have been?”
