Murder on Sisters' Row

none too pleased by the thought.

“The person who poisoned your wife was in the same house with her sometime shortly before she died. You don’t think it was any of your servants, and neither do I. We know who was at the rescue house. You’ve already told me Miss Yingling and Mrs. Spratt-Williams wouldn’t have done it. Only one person in that house really had anything to gain from your wife’s death.”

“Amy had nothing to gain!”

“Mr. Van Orner, I know Amy is living here with you now. I know she was your mistress before she went to Mrs. Walker’s brothel. She has said she knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s flask because you told her about it, and I know she named her baby boy after you.”

Color flooded Van Orner’s face. “That doesn’t mean she killed Vivian.”

“I know it doesn’t, but it doesn’t look good for her either. What I need to know from you, Mr. Van Orner, is what you want me to do if she did kill Mrs. Van Orner.”

Van Orner’s breath caught in his throat, and he let it out in a long sigh. “You have to understand about Amy. She’s had a difficult time of it.”

Frank made no comment. He just waited.

“Her father was in business, but he’d invested his savings in a project that went bankrupt, and he blew his brains out because he couldn’t face the shame of it. Her mother tried renting rooms in their house, but then she got consumption. She was going to die and leave Amy alone and penniless, so when one of her husband’s friends offered to take the girl as his mistress, what could she say?”

Frank could think of a number of things, but he just shrugged, not wanting to interrupt the flow of the story.

“He paid Mrs. Cunningham’s medical bills and buried her when she died. Then he set Amy up in her own establishment. She was fourteen.”

Frank thought of the girls even younger than that whom he’d seen sleeping in alleys and servicing bums for a few pennies to keep themselves alive. He had only limited sympathy for Amy.

“She blossomed into a lovely young woman, and when I saw her one evening at the theater . . . Let’s just say her protector was more anxious for my goodwill than he was for Amy’s company. He was handsomely compensated, and I got Amy.”

“How did she end up at Mrs. Walker’s?”

Van Orner didn’t even flinch. “Amy was amusing at first. I enjoyed satisfying her whims, but she was never satisfied. Her parents had spoiled her, you see, and her first protector had done nothing to remedy that. By the time she came to me, she had learned that whining and pouting would get her what she wanted. After a while, I found it more annoying than otherwise.”

“She named her baby after you.”

Van Orner shifted uneasily in his chair. “I didn’t know about the child. She claims she didn’t either. I tend to believe her, because if she’d told me, I would never have taken her to Mrs. Walker.”

“You believe it’s yours, then?”

“Six months ago, she was still under my protection. I have every reason to believe the child is mine. My wife was barren, Mr. Malloy. Even if I were to remarry, I have no guarantee I’ll ever have another child.”

“I wonder why Mrs. Walker didn’t let you know about the baby.”

“I told her I didn’t want to hear anything else about Amy. I assume she took me at my word. She may even have thought I’d sent Amy to her because I didn’t want the child.”

“Could Amy have thought you’d marry her if your wife was gone?”

“I certainly never said anything to make her believe that, but you know how women are, Mr. Malloy. One never knows what goes on in the female mind.”

Frank could attest to that, at least. “You still haven’t told me what you want me to do if I find out Amy poisoned your wife.”

The sounds of raised voices, women’s voices, and running feet distracted them both. Van Orner rose, his face twisted with fury at the disturbance and ready to call out a reprimand when the parlor door flew open and Miss Yingling burst in.

“Greg, they’ve kidnapped Amy!”

Then she saw Frank, but instead of being chagrined, she appealed to him. “Mr. Malloy, you have to do something. Mrs. Walker has kidnapped Amy!”

AFTER LUNCH, SARAH TOOK A LONG LOOK AT THE CAKE sitting on her kitchen table and made a decision. “I’m going to take this cake to the women at the rescue house.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Maeve said. “Can I go with you?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go there, Maeve.”

“Are you afraid I’ll be corrupted by the prostitutes?”

“Of course not, but I don’t want you to be seen there. Someone might get the wrong idea.”

“Aren’t you afraid they’ll get the wrong idea seeing you there?”

“Not at all. I’m much too old to be a rescued prostitute.”

“You’re not that old! You’re not even thirty!”

“But very few prostitutes live to even be as old as I am.”

This was the sad truth, and Maeve did not dispute it. Instead she said with a sly grin, “You could be a madam.”

“No one rescues madams,” Sarah replied tartly.

They packed up the cake in a market basket, and Sarah set out for the rescue house.

Lisa Biafore was delighted to see her and even more so when she saw what was in the basket. She called down the other two girls who were still living at the house, and they all enjoyed some coffee and cake. After the other girls had gone back to their rooms, Sarah helped Lisa clean up.

“I hate to ask you again,” Lisa said as she stacked the dirty plates, “but do you have any idea what’s going to become of us?”

“Hasn’t Mrs. Spratt-Williams been to see you yet?”

“No, we haven’t heard a thing. We only have enough food for a couple more days, and just a few dollars of spending money left.”

How odd, Mrs. Spratt-Williams had said she would visit here yesterday. “I’m going to see Mrs. Spratt-Williams this afternoon. I spoke with her the other day, and she assured me she would be taking Mrs. Van Orner’s place and making sure things continued on just as they have been.”

“Oh, dear,” Lisa said, then looked away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lisa said, hurrying to take the dishes into the kitchen.

Sarah followed. “Lisa, if something is wrong, please tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Lisa looked stricken. “You won’t tell anyone you heard this from me, will you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I shouldn’t say anything, I know, but . . . Poor Mrs. Van Orner, she worked so hard to help the women here, and she got very little reward. She deserves better than this.”

Sarah was confused. “Better than being murdered?”

“Oh, yes, surely that, but I didn’t mean the way she died. I meant Mrs. Spratt-Williams.”

“What about her?”

Lisa set the dishes in the sink, took a deep breath, and turned back to Sarah. “I don’t think Mrs. Van Orner would want Mrs. Spratt-Williams taking her place.”

“Why not? I thought they were friends.”

“Oh, they were. Mrs. Spratt-Williams told me time and time again how they’d known each other as girls, but friends don’t always see eye to eye, if you know what I mean.”

“What didn’t they see eye to eye on?”

“You promise you won’t tell anyone I told you?”

“Of course,” Sarah promised.