Murder on Fifth Avenue

on her doorstep instead.

“Was it Miss English?” she asked as she ushered him in.

“No.”

“Her maid?”

“No.” He looked as discouraged as she’d ever seen him.

“We must have missed something, then.”

“I’ve been going over everything in my head all the way over here, and I can’t think of anybody else who had the chance to do it.”

“Are you sure about Miss English and…What’s the other woman’s name?”

“Lizzie. Yes. Miss English is just too simple to lie very well. If she knew anything at all, she would’ve told me.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Mr. Malloy!” Catherine cried, clattering down the stairs, with Maeve on her heels. She ran to him for a hug, and Maeve greeted him happily.

The commotion drew Mrs. Decker from the kitchen, where Sarah had been telling her about the events of the morning.

“Are you here to celebrate the successful completion of your case, Mr. Malloy?” she asked.

“Mrs. Decker, I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, a little dismayed.

“How could I stay away when I knew you were questioning Paul this morning? Was it a nut pick, as you suspected?”

“What’s a nut pick?” Catherine asked.

“It’s a thing you use to eat nuts with,” Maeve said. “You come along now. The grown-ups need to talk in private.”

Catherine tried a pout, but Maeve was unmoved. She took Catherine from Malloy’s arms.

“When we’re finished talking, you can visit with Mr. Malloy, darling,” Mrs. Decker said. “Run along and play with Maeve now.”

Sarah took Malloy’s coat, and the three of them returned to the kitchen, where she poured him some coffee and they settled themselves around the table.

“I have to tell you, I’m horrified to discover that Lucretia poisoned that poor man,” her mother said.

“I’m sorry,” Malloy said. “I know she’s a friend of yours.”

“Not a friend any longer, I assure you. How could I ever speak to her again, knowing what she’s done? Are you going to arrest her?”

Malloy hesitated for a long moment, then said, “That’s up to your husband.”

“Why on earth would it be up to Felix?”

“Mother, have you ever known any of your friends to be arrested for anything?”

“No, but none of them have ever committed a murder, either.”

“Mrs. Decker, it’s very difficult to bring a rich person to trial.”

“Why?”

Malloy gave Sarah a pleading glance.

“Because,” she said, “many judges and others in authority are willing to accept bribes to lose the paperwork or drop the charges.”

“That’s outrageous!”

“But it’s true.”

“What will become of her, then?” her mother asked.

“That may actually be up to you,” Sarah said.

“Me? What can I do?”

“You can tell your other friends what she did. She may not go to prison, but you can make sure she never goes anywhere else, either.”

“Oh!”

“Unless your husband has a better idea,” Malloy said.

Sarah’s mother considered this for a few minutes before she said, “But we still don’t know who killed Chilton. Did the mistress do it, Mr. Malloy?”

Malloy glanced at Sarah. “No, and her maid didn’t either. I’m afraid I came here to tell Mrs. Brandt that I was wrong about everybody, and I’m on my way to report to your husband that I failed, Mrs. Decker.”

“You can’t give up!” her mother said. “There has to be a solution.”

“Mother is right,” Sarah said. “And if you were really ready to give up, why did you stop here first?”

“For some coffee and some sympathy,” he said with a small smile.

“You’re welcome to my coffee, but I’m not ready to give you any sympathy yet.”

“Heavens, no,” her mother said. “But I would be more than happy to help if you’ll just tell me what I could do.”

“Could you convince your husband he really doesn’t want to know who stabbed Chilton Devries?” Malloy asked.

“This is no time for joking, Mr. Malloy. We must put our heads together and figure out who the guilty party is.”

Malloy turned to Sarah. “I wasn’t joking.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Just tell us what Miss English said to convince you she’s innocent.”

“It wasn’t what she said so much as how she answered my questions. I hadn’t ever told them how Devries died, and I pretended I thought she’d accidentally stuck him with something.”

“A nut pick?” her mother said.

“I didn’t come right out and say it. I wanted her to tell me what she used.”

“And she denied it?” her mother said.

“She denied stabbing him or doing anything to anger him. Seems Devries punched her once when she talked back to him—”

“Punched her? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m perfectly serious, Mrs. Decker. He punched her in the face so hard she couldn’t chew for a week, she said.”

For the first time Sarah could remember, her mother was speechless.

“I can see why she wouldn’t have dared to stab him,” Sarah said.

“And if she did, she would’ve had to do some real damage or else risk him hurting her even worse than he did before.”

“Oh, I see,” her mother said. “She couldn’t just hurt him enough to make him angry. She’d have to kill him or disable him because he’d turn on her if she didn’t.”

“And whatever actually injured him was too small to disable him and took a long time to actually kill him.”

“So whoever attacked him risked his anger,” her mother said.

“His anger and his retribution,” Sarah said.

Her mother gave her a small smile. “Now I believe you when you say you don’t enjoy this. How frustrating!”

They sipped their coffee, each lost in thought for a few moments. Then Sarah said, “What else did you find out from Miss English?”

“She’s sold off most of the furniture in the house, including all the nut picks.”

Sarah grinned. “Did you ask her that?”

“I asked about the nut bowls. They were silver, but not solid silver, she informed me, so she didn’t get much when she sold them. I told her Paul Devries knows about her. I figure sooner or later, he’ll get around to evicting her. She’s trying to find a new protector.” For some reason he smiled at this.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“I just remembered, I told her to ask Salvatore Angotti for help.”

“Why would she go to him?”

“Because he’d called on her.”