Dr. Ashe shook his head. “Oh, no, it was quite selfish of me. She may have made a very bad mistake, but that does not change the fact that she is extremely good with figures and organization, and very good with the patients. Do you need to talk to her? I have already advised her that you may need to, but I hope you will be gentle with her. She is more sinned against than sinning.”
“You can trust me,” said my employer. “I will want to ask her a few questions, but first let me try to plow through these papers. I don’t want to waste her time asking about details of these cases if I can find the answers here.”
“Good, then I’ll leave you alone for now,” said the doctor, getting to his feet. “Tell Miss Ellsworth if you need me again, and I’ll try to come back when I’ve a moment free.”
“Appreciate your help, Doctor,” said Mr. Clemens, shaking his hand, “Maybe the answers will be here—I sure hope so.”
The doctor nodded and hurried out to see his patients, and Mr. Clemens and I sat down to look through a stack of medical files.
25
Reading through the records of Dr. Parkhurst’s patients was slow going. I knew nothing of medical language, other than the names of a few common diseases, and Mr. Clemens knew little more than I. From time to time one of us would ask the other what something meant; the answer was usually “I don’t know.” Still, it was clear that practically everyone at the séance had some reason to feel animosity toward Dr. Parkhurst. “I reckon we’re lucky we didn’t know the fellow any better,” said Mr. Clemens, at last. “We’d have ended up wanting to shoot him ourselves.”
“That’s a sorry observation, but perhaps a true one,” I said. “So much for thinking we could narrow the number of potential suspects. At least, the doctor’s secretary was evidently out of town at the time of the killing, and Dr. Ashe seems to have a good alibi. So there are two we don’t have to worry about.”
“Still, it looks as if the secretary had motive enough,” said Mr. Clemens. “She may have had friends or family who knew her story and wanted to avenge her. Besides, she’ll know more than most about the doctor’s doings. We’ll talk to her before we go.”
I went out to ask the secretary if she could speak to us, and found her busy with an accounts book. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, and she looked up at me with a trace of annoyance at the interruption. But when I added, “Mr. Clemens would like to speak to you, if it is convenient,” she quietly put down the book, and followed me into the back office.
My employer stood as she entered, and said, “I’m sorry to take you away from your work, young lady. Have a seat, and we’ll try to waste as little of your time as we can.”
“Dr. Ashe told me you are looking into Oliver’s murder,” she said, taking the chair behind the desk—the one Dr. Parkhurst had probably used. Her voice was low and melodious, and her expression became more animated as she spoke. For the first time, I could see how the doctor might have found her attractive. “Has he told you that Oliver and I were . . . ?”
Mr. Clemens nodded in answer to the unfinished question. “It was actually Miss Donning who gave us the first hint of that,” said Mr. Clemens. “Dr. Ashe merely confirmed what we already knew.”
“Miss Donning,” she said, and a hint of a sneer came to her lip. “Ah, yes, the estimable Miss Donning must have given me a fine character.”
“She didn’t mention you in particular, just the general fact of the doctor’s . . . uh, affairs,” said my employer. “She did manage to tear just about everybody else’s reputation to shreds, so I reckon you got off light. Now, most of what went on between you and the doctor isn’t my business.”
“I’m glad you see it that way,” said Miss Ellsworth. “It saves me telling you so myself.” Her face flushed red, whether from anger or shame—or possibly both—I could not tell.
“Then we understand each other,” said Mr. Clemens. “That’ll save us both some aggravation. Just a few questions, then. Was it you or Dr. Parkhurst who broke off your relationship?”
She looked him in the eye, and for a moment, I thought she was not going to answer. Then she looked downward and said, “It was he, of course. Oliver grew tired of me; he let me know that I had become inconvenient, and that it would be best for me to leave his employment. And so I did, until Dr. Ashe called me back.”
“You say he grew tired of you,” said Mr. Clemens. I could see that he was somewhat uncomfortable to talk to a young woman about the most delicate of subjects. “Is that the whole story? Or did something else happen—like his wife finding out about you?”
“Cornelia knew about me quite some time ago,” she said, raising her chin. “Oliver never much cared what she knew about, once he had secured the benefits of her social position and her fortune. After that, she ceased to be of much interest to him. She was certainly never a threat to me.”
“I see,” said Mr. Clemens, tapping a forefinger on the desk. “But could she have finally resented his behavior enough to kill him—or to conspire with someone else to have him killed?”
“Perhaps ten years ago she might have,” said Miss Ellsworth. “I didn’t know her then. But Oliver broke her spirit long since. I doubt she could find enthusiasm for anything but her spiritualism, now. Unless perhaps it is the sherry decanter. At one time I despised her for her weakness. I felt
