“If Devries did, maybe he’s involved in some business in the city.”
Malloy’s expression told her how unlikely he thought this was.
Sarah shrugged. “Maybe he owns a restaurant or something. What other explanation can you think of for why Devries would be meeting with him?”
“Maybe Mr. Devries wanted him to kill someone for him,” Maeve said.
They gaped at her.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know about the Black Hand. That’s what they do, isn’t it?”
Sarah knew it very well. They’d encountered the secret group before. “The Black Hand usually only preys on other Italians, though.”
“Things are changing,” Malloy said. “Maeve may be right, but even if she is, you aren’t going to even mention Angotti’s name to anybody at the Devrieses’ house or anywhere else. All you have to do is find out what you can about his family. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What do you want us to find out exactly?” Sarah asked.
“Why he was arguing with his wife and son on the morning he died, but most of all, why Garnet Devries laughed when she heard he was dead.”
FRANK WONDERED IF ANYONE HAD TOLD MISS NORAH English that her protector was dead. He couldn’t imagine the Devries family thinking of it or doing it if they had. They might not even know she existed. Did Felix Decker know about Miss English? And if so, would he have taken it upon himself to inform her? Frank couldn’t imagine that either. So the chances were good he would be the one to break the news and find out just what Miss English thought of Devries.
Although the city had been bustling busily for several hours, Frank’s visit was still extremely early for a social call. The window shades on the small house on Mercer Street had not yet been raised, giving the impression the house was still asleep.
A maid answered his thundering knock. The stout woman, past middle-aged, seemed harried and not at all pleased to see him. She adjusted her cap, cheeks red from exertion. Or something. She looked him over with a critical—and disapproving—eye. “Who’re you?”
“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy with the New York City Police. I need to see Miss English right away.”
Her eyes widened when he said
“I’m not a visitor. This is police business. Tell her I need to speak to her about Mr. Devries.”
“You can’t scare me. I know the police don’t have no business with Mr. Devries.”
“They do if he’s been murdered.”
Her red face went slack. “The devil, you say!”
Frank slapped the partially opened door and gave it a shove, sending her staggering back, then stepped into the tiny foyer. “Go tell Miss English I need to see her.”
“She ain’t even awake yet!”
“Then wake her up and get her down here.”
He could see she was starting to realize the ramifications to her and her mistress. “I ain’t gonna tell her he’s dead.”
“Please don’t. Just tell here there’s been some trouble. I’ll be happy to break the news to her myself.”
“Dear God in heaven, what’ll become of us now?” she muttered.
Frank had no answer for that.
She shut the door behind him. “You can wait in the parlor.” She nodded toward the doorway to his left and trudged off to the back of the house.
Frank removed his hat and coat and hung them on the coat tree by the door. Then he took the opportunity to look around. Devries hadn’t spent a lot of money fixing up the house. Judging from the style and condition of the furnishings, they were leftover from a previous resident who had died of old age. The wallpaper in the hallway and the parlor had faded until the original design was little more than a suggestion. The sofa sagged more than a bit. Only the draperies appeared to be new, probably because the old ones had disintegrated from dry rot.
Miss English had made an effort at personalizing the place with some cheap knickknacks, notable for their tackiness, that cluttered the mantel and a tabletop. Frank had plenty of time to admire them. Miss English did not appear for almost an hour.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Norah English looked much too young and innocent to be anyone’s mistress. A plump girl with apple cheeks, she wore her dark brown hair in an elaborate style that explained why she had taken so long to get dressed. Her dress had probably cost a small fortune, but it didn’t flatter her at all. The multitude of ruffles and flounces only made her look plumper. Or maybe that’s what Devries liked.
“Lizzie said you’re with the police,” she said, her brow furrowed with either uncertainty or concern. “I don’t know why you’re here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Frank could’ve argued with her, but he said, “Maybe you should sit down. I have some bad news for you.”
“I don’t think I should talk to you. Mr. Devries doesn’t like me to talk to strange men. If you have bad news for me, you should tell him. Mr. Devries is my protector. He’ll tell me anything he thinks I need to know.” She folded her hands in front of her and nodded once, as if satisfied at the way she had handled this difficult situation.
He should be kind to this girl who would need all the kindness she could get. “Miss English, I’m very sorry to inform you that Mr. Chilton Devries died yesterday.”
She stared at him for a long moment, blinking furiously. “That’s impossible,” she finally said. “Mr. Devries was here yesterday morning, and he was perfectly fine then.”
“I’m sure he was. He was perfectly fine until yesterday afternoon when he died at his club.”
“He…he
“I’m afraid so, Miss English. Would you like to sit down?”
She didn’t reply. She just kept staring at him. At first he didn’t know where the sound was coming from, and then he realized she was making it, a high-pitched keening just short of a wail. Then she swayed, and he caught her and managed to get her to one of the armchairs before her knees gave way.
“What’ve you done to her?” the maid Lizzie demanded, appearing in the doorway like an avenging angel. “Miss Norah, are you all right?”
Miss English just kept wailing, rocking from side to side in her chair.
“Do you have any brandy?” The maid ignored him. Instead, she strode over to Miss English and slapped her in the face.
Miss English instantly stopped keening. “Chilton is dead,” Miss English said, without so much as a complaint about getting slapped. “What’ll become of us, Lizzie? What will we do?”
“We’ll manage. We always do.” Lizzie turned to Frank. “You can leave now. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
“I need to ask Miss English some questions first.”
“What kind of questions?”
“That’s none of your business,” Frank said.
“Everything about Miss Norah is my business.”
He considered reminding her she was just the maid, but the way she’d slapped the girl made him wonder. “Fine. You’ll hear the questions when I ask them, then. Miss English?”
The girl looked up at him, rubbing her cheek absently. Her eyes were moist, but he didn’t think she was crying over Devries. “Yes?”
“Can you tell me what happened with Mr. Devries yesterday morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you just tell me what he did and what he said from the time he woke up until he left here? I know he’d spent the night.”
The color rose in her face and her expression hardened. “You don’t have any right to judge me.”
“I’m not judging you. I know how hard it can be for a young woman alone.”
“What does it matter what he did here anyway?” Lizzie asked. “You said he died at his club in the
