The fourth book in the Gaslight Mysteries series, 2002

SARAH OPENED THE DOOR TO FIND A RAGGED LITTLE BOY on her front stoop. He was fidgeting from one grubby bare foot to the other, either impatient or nervous. He clutched a folded piece of paper to his sunken chest and glared up at her suspiciously.

“You Mrs. Brandt?” he demanded.

“Yes, I am,” she replied, eyeing him cautiously. He might be young in years, but she knew he was as dangerous as a serpent. Obviously, he was a street Arab, one of the hundreds of homeless children who lived on the streets, doing whatever was necessary to stay alive. What on earth did he want and how did he know her name?

“Here,” he said, thrusting the paper at her.

She took it gingerly, still watching him with one eye while she unfolded it. Someone needing her services as a midwife must have hired the boy to fetch her. Usually a family member or a neighbor came to tell her a woman’s time had come, but perhaps they’d had no one to send.

“Dear Mrs. Brandt,” the note read in a careful, masculine hand. “I find myself in need of some professional advice from you on behalf of a lady of my acquaintance. However, this is a matter of some delicacy, and I would prefer that my mother not be made aware of it. Would you be so kind as to meet me this evening at five o’clock in Washington Square near the hanging tree?” The note was signed, “Your obedient servant, Nelson Ellsworth.”

Nelson lived next door to her with his elderly mother. Mrs. Ellsworth had become one of Sarah’s dearest friends, in spite of the difference in their ages. She hardly knew Nelson, however, since he was so seldom at home. According to Mrs. Ellsworth, he spent long hours working at the bank. He hoped to become a vice president soon.

“You gotta answer,” the boy informed her, still dancing from one dirty foot to the other. His clothes were filthy, too, and his body was skeletally thin. Every instinct demanded that she take him inside and give him a hot meal and clean clothes and a warm bed. She’d be a fool to do so, though. Once in her house, he’d probably steal everything of value and vanish.

“Please tell the gentleman that I said yes,” she told the boy.

“No, you gotta write it! He won’t pay if you don’t write it, and he promised me a nickel!” he cried, his small body fairly quivering with urgency.

She should have known Nelson would be careful. He wasn’t one to take chances, even with five cents. The boy could simply throw the paper away and return whatever message he wanted to if Nelson hadn’t required a written reply.

“Just a moment.” Sarah carefully closed the door, resisting the urge to lock it. She couldn’t bring herself to insult the boy that much, no matter how little she trusted him.

Her front room had been converted into a medical office when her physician husband had conducted his practice there. Since his death, Sarah used it to see the patients who were able to come to her. She went to her desk and found a pencil.

“I would be happy to meet with you, unless I am on a call,” she wrote and signed her name. Babies arrived when they wished, and Sarah could never make a firm appointment with anyone.

She folded the paper again as she made her way back to the front door. This whole thing was very puzzling. There was only one reason someone would require her professional opinion, and Nelson Ellsworth was not only a male but a bachelor, too. In fact, according to his mother, he did not even have any lady friends. Which meant that his mother probably didn’t know him nearly as well as she thought!

The boy still stood on the porch, looking even more unhappy than he had before. She held out the paper, and he snatched it from her fingers. In that instant, their eyes met, and Sarah saw him for the child that he was. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and she wondered what evil things he had been forced to do to stay alive this long. Her heart ached with a longing she refused to identify.

“If you ever need help…” she began, ignoring all common sense. But her effort was wasted. The boy was gone, running down the street as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, off to find Nelson Ellsworth and earn his nickel.

Sarah sighed. It was just as well. What had she been thinking to invite a child like that to visit her? She smiled at the thought of what her friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy would have to say about her sentimental feelings for a street urchin. He would be horrified and wouldn’t hesitate to let her know it. When she might have an opportunity to share those feelings, however, she couldn’t imagine. She hadn’t seen Malloy for several weeks, not since he’d taken his son Brian home from the hospital.

Brian had been born with a club foot, but a surgeon Sarah knew had operated on him to correct it. The cast might even be off by now. Sarah decided she might actually be brazen enough to pay the child a visit, just to see how he was doing. She’d have to be careful not to go when Malloy might be home, of course. She wouldn’t want him or Malloy’s mother to think she was using his child as an excuse to see him. Especially Malloy’s mother, who hated the sight of her. Besides, she knew if she visited Brian, Malloy would feel obligated to come by and thank her later.

THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH LEFT THE HOUSE TO FIND Nelson Ellsworth’s mother out sweeping her front porch. This wasn’t particularly surprising, since Mrs. Ellsworth had made sweeping her front porch her life’s work, the better to know everything going on in the neighborhood firsthand. For once, Sarah knew a secret her next-door neighbor didn’t, but she would honor her pledge to keep it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Ellsworth called when she saw Sarah. “Are you off to deliver a baby?”

“No, I’m off to visit Mr. Malloy’s son,” she replied, knowing this would capture Mrs. Ellsworth’s complete attention.

“How is the sweet little thing doing? Do they know if the surgery was successful yet?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked in concern. She was particularly fond of Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy, although Malloy wasn’t the type of man old ladies were typically fond of. She even seemed to think that Malloy and Sarah would make a good match. Mrs. Ellsworth was probably the only person in New York who believed an Irish Cop and a Knickerbocker Debutante could live happily ever after, but Sarah humored her romantic notions.

“Mr. Malloy hasn’t seen fit to keep me informed of Brian’s progress, so I’m going to see for myself,” Sarah said.

“Good for you!” Mrs. Ellsworth said approvingly. “Please tell Mr. Malloy I send my best wishes for the boy.”

“I doubt I’ll be seeing Mr. Malloy,” Sarah said. “I’m sure he’s working at this time of day.”

Mrs. Ellsworth’s wrinkles slid into a frown. “You’re going to visit Mr. Malloy’s mother then?”

“I’m going to visit his son,” Sarah corrected her with a smile, “but I’m afraid his mother will most certainly be there, too.”

Mrs. Ellsworth shook her head. Sarah had told her that Mrs. Malloy didn’t approve of her son’s acquaintance with Sarah. For some reason, the old woman thought Sarah had set her cap for Frank Malloy, and she disapproved even more than Mrs. Ellsworth approved of such a match. “You must take something along with you for good luck, then,” she said, searching in the pocket of her skirt for what she might have available in the way of good luck charms.

“I won’t need luck,” Sarah scolded her. “I’m just going for a visit.”

“That woman might give you the evil eye or something,” Mrs. Ellsworth warned. The old woman was a firm believer in things like the evil eye and good luck charms. “You can’t be too careful. Here, take this.” She came down her porch steps and pressed a shiny new penny into Sarah’s hand.

Sarah couldn’t help herself. “This will protect me from the evil eye?” she asked skeptically.

“Pennies are notoriously lucky,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “I’d give you a rabbit’s foot, but I don’t seem to have one with me. The only other thing I have is a nutmeg,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket to prove it. “Nutmegs are also very lucky, but only in protecting you from rheumatism and boils, which won’t be of much use to you with Mrs. Malloy, now will it? But if you’d prefer a rabbit’s foot, I’m sure I can find one in the house if you don’t mind waiting…”

“Oh, no, don’t go to any trouble,” Sarah said, biting back a smile. “I’m sure the penny will do very nicely. Thank you very much.”

Sarah waved good-bye and was walking away when Mrs. Ellsworth stopped her again.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I almost forgot. Did you have a visitor last night? Late, I mean. Someone who knocked on your door?” For some reason, Mrs. Ellsworth looked a little anxious.

“If I did, I slept through it,” Sarah replied, a little worried herself. She would hate to have missed a call to deliver a baby. “Why, did you hear someone knocking?”

Mrs. Ellsworth frowned, absently fingering her nutmeg, as if for comfort. “Yes, but… Well, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just an old woman’s fancies. I didn’t mean to keep you. Give Mr. Malloy’s son a kiss for me.”

“I will,” she promised and walked away shaking her head. Hearing knocking was probably some kind of omen. Mrs. Ellsworth was always seeing omens in everything. Sarah hoped it didn’t portend something evil. Even though Sarah knew it meant nothing, poor Mrs. Ellsworth would worry herself sick over it.

MAKING THEIR ESCAPE FROM POLICE HEADQUARTERS was far easier than getting in had been for Sarah. Malloy brought Nelson up from the basement where he’d been held since being picked up from his job at the bank. He looked a little worse for wear, but at least he didn’t seem to be bloody or bruised. Malloy led them both to a back door that opened into an alley. Cabs wouldn’t normally be cruising in this neighborhood looking for potential customers, and they couldn’t risk drawing attention to themselves at any rate, so they started out on foot.

Walking as quickly as Sarah’s skirts would allow, they made their way over to Broadway, where they were soon lost in the crowds of people heading home for their evening meals.

Only then did Sarah begin to feel safe.

“How are you?” she asked Nelson when they had reached the corner of Fourth Street and turned toward Washington Square. Now that she had a chance to look at him more closely, she could see that he looked terrible. His face was pale and his tie was askew. He had a streak of dirt on the sleeve of his suit coat, and his eyes were haunted.

“Anna is dead,” he said, as if that were his only concern.

“I know, Nelson,” she said kindly, realizing that he was in no condition to discuss this on a public street. She glanced at Malloy, who frowned and shook his head slightly, warning her against saying more.

None of them spoke again until they’d reached the northeast corner of the Square, where the hanging tree stood. Nelson’s steps slowed, and he stopped completely when they came abreast of the tree.

“They said they found her there,” he said, gazing at the ground at the foot of the tree. There was no indication someone had died on the spot only a few hours ago. “But what was she doing here in the middle of the night?”

Sarah looked at Malloy, expecting to see some sign that he recognized this wasn’t the reaction of a guilty man. Instead, she saw that his expression was closed, betraying none of his own opinions.

“Come on, Ellsworth,” he said. “We need to get you off the street before some of those reporters catch up with us.”

Nelson acted as if he didn’t even hear Malloy, so Sarah took his arm. “Nelson, your mother will be worried about you. Come along, now.”

Reluctantly, he allowed Sarah to urge him on his way again. They were now well within a neighborhood where they could have found a cab, but Sarah realized they’d be home sooner if they kept walking. In a cab they would be captives of the traffic that clogged every intersection and often moved at a snail’s pace. Besides, she thought the exercise was probably good for Nelson. If he sat down for a moment, he might fall apart.

They were almost to Bank Street when Sarah remembered Webster Prescott. “A reporter came to Nelson’s house,” she told Malloy. “That’s how I found out about the murder. There might be more waiting there by now.”

Malloy nodded. “We’d better go down the alley then. We can go into your house. They won’t expect to find him there.”

Sarah led the two men into her small rear garden. The flowers were all dead now, but the remaining greenery gave an air of sanctuary to the place. Sarah glanced over the fence to the Ellsworths’ house, hoping Mrs. Ellsworth might be looking out and see them, but all the curtains were tightly drawn. The trio made their way up to her back door. Once inside, she helped Malloy seat Nelson at her kitchen table, then hurried to the front room of the house to peek out at the street. Just as she’d suspected, several men stood on the sidewalk in front of the Ellsworth house, waiting and talking among themselves. At least Mrs. Ellsworth had managed to hold them at bay while Sarah was gone. The poor woman must be nearly frantic by now.

She turned to find Malloy had followed her. “I’ve got to go over and tell Mrs. Ellsworth that Nelson is here and safe.”

“You can’t go over there. Those reporters will eat you alive.”

Sarah couldn’t help but smile at the image. “I managed to get through a whole crowd of them on Mulberry Street,” she reminded him.

“They didn’t know who you were.”

“Well, I’ve got to tell Mrs. Ellsworth everything is all right, and I don’t want to go sneaking around the back. If those reporters see me, they’ll surround the place, and we’ll never get Nelson out of here. Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

Malloy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

FRANK WALKED SLOWLY FROM WASHINGTON SQUARE TO Anna Blake’s boardinghouse on Thompson Street, ignoring the brisk morning chill that warned of winter’s coming. He was trying to get a feel for the neighborhood and judge how long it might have taken Anna to walk from her rooming house to the Square where she died. He looked carefully around, seeing what she would have passed on her way and who might have had an opportunity to see her. The people who might have seen her or her killer weren’t here now. They’d crawled back into their hidey-holes until the sun set again.

The first thing he usually did when investigating a crime was to ask the neighbors what they saw and heard and if they knew any gossip that might help identify the guilty party. In this case, the people who might have seen Anna Blake or her killer that night weren’t the kind who’d feel any civic duty to aid the police. In fact, they’d evade him or lie if they had to, just to keep from getting involved with the police. So coming back here to question the nighttime denizens of the Square was a waste of time.

The house where Anna Blake had lived looked no different from the others on the street. Formerly a family home, it had long since been converted into cheap lodging for those who couldn’t afford a flat of their own but who earned enough to keep a decent roof over their head. Less fortunate folks would find refuge in flop houses where they could get a bed for a nickel a night or space on the floor for a few pennies. No decent woman would go into a flop house, though, and only the lowest of prostitutes frequented them. So Frank knew a lot about Anna Blake just from seeing where she lived.

Although she’d been unable to find suitable employment, she’d managed to find the three to five dollars a week she would need for room and board here, or else they would have thrown her out of the house. Frank already knew Nelson Ellsworth had been paying her rent, but she’d lived in this house before he came along to rescue her. This meant she’d had some source of income before Nelson. Supposedly, she and her mother had been penniless and unable to find work. Then the mother needed an operation, for which Nelson loaned Anna money. Had she been living on that loan? And what had happened to the mother? Buried in a pauper’s grave? Or had she ever existed at all? Interesting questions. Perhaps Anna’s landlady could shed some light on them.

But the person who answered the door wasn’t the landlady or even a lady at all. The man was of medium height, thin but with a slight paunch underneath a stylish waist-coat. A short, neat beard covered the lower half of his face. He wore a well-fitted suit, as if he had just been going out.

“Another policeman,” he said with disgust. People always seemed to know Frank was a cop.

“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” Frank said by way of introduction. “And who would you be?”

“Oliver Walcott,” he replied with a long-suffering sigh. “And I’ve already told the police everything I know about poor Anna.”

“Then it’ll all be fresh in your mind,” Frank said pleasantly, forcing his way past Walcott into the front hallway. The place was well furnished and cleaner than most such houses.

“I was just going out,” Walcott protested.

“I won’t keep you long.” Frank wandered into the parlor, glancing around and taking in every detail.

Left with no choice, Walcott followed but pointedly did not offer Frank a seat. He took one anyway, on the sofa.

“You’re the landlord, I take it,” Frank said.

“My wife and I, yes,” Walcott said.

“Is your wife in?”

“No, she’s shopping, I believe. I don’t know when she’ll be back. Mrs. Walcott can spend the entire day shopping if she sets her mind to it.”

“Then I’ll come back later and talk to her,” Frank said. “Now why don’t you tell me everything you know about Anna Blake?”

Walcott surrendered with bad grace, seating himself on a chair opposite Frank, but perching on the edge, as if only planning to stay there a few moments. “Anna only lived here a few months. Three or four, I believe, although I can’t be sure. My wife could tell you exactly.”

“How long did her mother live here with her before she died?” Frank asked casually.

Walcott’s forehead creased into a frown. “Her mother?” he echoed uncertainly. “I don’t… her mother never lived here at all. She’s dead, or so I was led to believe.”

“Do you know how long ago she died?”

Walcott considered a moment. “I’m sure I don’t know exactly, but I gathered she’d been gone for a long while. Anna was all alone in the world and had been for some time.”

No dying mother. No operation. This explained a lot about Anna Blake. “Was she employed?”

“I… not that I know of. Really, Detective, you should be talking to my wife. I didn’t know Anna very well.”

“She lived in your house,” Frank reminded him.

“Yes, but I hardly ever do,” Walcott replied.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I travel extensively.”

“For your business?” Frank guessed.

“No, I… that is, I simply like to travel, and do so at every opportunity.”

“What business are you in?” Frank prodded.

Again Walcott hesitated, but Frank thought he seemed slightly embarrassed. “I… I don’t have a business. You see, Mrs. Walcott’s family left her a small inheritance. Not a lot, but enough that with our income from our lodgers, I do not have to be employed. She likes staying home and taking care of our guests-I believe they substitute for the children we never had-and I am free to come and go as I please.”

“How many boarders do you have?”

“Sometimes we have three, but two usually… I mean, Anna was one of them. Catherine Porter is the other, at the moment. Now, I suppose, we only have one.”

“Then you had an empty room, but I didn’t see a sign advertising it,” Frank noted.

“Oh, we don’t put out a sign. We prefer to obtain our lodgers by recommendation. We set high standards, you see.”

“About their ability to pay, I guess.”

Walcott seemed surprised. “Yes, I suppose… Well, of course, we don’t take anyone who wouldn’t be able to support themselves, but we want respectable young ladies, too. If you put out a sign, you never know who might come along.”

“It’s my understanding that Anna Blake didn’t have a job. How did she convince you she could pay the rent?” Frank inquired.

“Well, uh, that is… You’d really have to ask Mrs. Walcott about that. She handles all the arrangements. I don’t involve myself in such matters.”

Frank was becoming annoyed with Walcott, but he didn’t let it show. “Tell me what happened the night Anna died.”

Now it was Walcott’s turn to be annoyed, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t here that night.”

“Where were you? Traveling?” He managed to make his skepticism known.

“Yes, I was in Philadelphia.”

“Can you prove it?” Frank asked mildly.

Walcott’s face had grown red. “If necessary,” he replied tightly.

“So you would have no idea why Anna went out that night?”

“None at all.”

“Was she in the habit of going out alone at night?”

“We keep a decent house here, Detective. Any young ladies in the habit of going out at night would be asked to leave.”

“I guess that means you wouldn’t allow them gentleman callers, either.”

“In the parlor, where they could be chaperoned,” Walcott snapped.

“Then can you explain how Anna Black got herself with child?”

“What?” Walcott looked genuinely shocked.

“Anna Blake claimed she was with child, and from what I’ve been given to understand, she got that way right here in your house.”

“I can’t imagine who gave you an idea like that, but it’s completely false. Such a thing could never happen here.”

“How can you be sure? You said yourself that you don’t spend much time at home.”

Walcott was insulted now. “My wife would never let such a thing happen either. She’s very careful. She has her own reputation to protect, after all.”

“Maybe she didn’t know about it,” Frank suggested, but Walcott wasn’t going to be placated.

“Are you finished with me?” he asked, rising from his chair. “As I told you, I have an appointment and-” The sound of someone knocking on the front door interrupted him, and he signed in exasperation. “I hope that isn’t one of those reporters. There were about a dozen of them outside this morning when we woke up. I thought they were going to break down the door. Poor Catherine, our other lodger, was nearly hysterical with fright.”

“How did you get rid of them?” Frank asked curiously.

“I told them the name of the bank where Nelson Ellsworth is employed,” he said, and Frank nearly groaned aloud. So much for protecting Nelson’s employer from the onslaught of the press.

Frank saw a maid come from the rear of the house to answer the door, and then he did groan aloud because the person she admitted was Sarah Brandt.

“Malloy,” she said when she saw him through the open parlor door, smiling too smugly for Frank’s taste.

He rose to his feet, but he didn’t return her greeting as she brazenly came into the room without waiting for an invitation. She waited a moment for him to make introductions, and when he didn’t, she offered Walcott her hand.

“I’m Sarah Brandt, a friend of Anna Blake’s.”

Even Frank was impressed with her audacity. Walcott was simply confused.

“I’m sorry, Miss Brandt, but Anna… Something terrible has happened and-”

“It’s Mrs. Brandt, and I know what happened to poor, dear Anna,” she told him. “I’ve come to see if there is anything I can do to help. I’m sure Mrs. Walcott must be very upset, and I thought I might be of some assistance to her. Is she receiving visitors?”

“She’s out shopping,” Frank informed her.

Mrs. Brandt raised her fine eyebrows to express her surprise at such a thing

“I’ll be sure to tell her you called,” Mr. Walcott assured her hastily.

“The other lodger is pretty upset,” Frank offered. “Maybe she’d appreciate a visit.”

Mrs. Brandt’s eyebrows rose higher, probably to express her shock that Frank had asked for her assistance, but she was gracious enough not to betray any other reaction.

“Are you a friend of Miss Porter’s, too?” Walcott asked her suspiciously.

Frank never got to hear what bold-faced lie Sarah Brandt might have told because just then someone else started pounding insistently on the front door.

“Reporters,” Walcott muttered furiously, and this time he didn’t wait for the maid to answer.

Striding purposefully back out into the foyer, he opened the door, prepared to do battle with a member of the Fourth Estate. Instead, a very distraught middle-aged man pushed his way into the house. “Where is she?” he demanded.

Walcott seemed genuinely alarmed. “This isn’t an opportune time, Mr. Giddings,” he said, hurrying over and closing the door to the parlor in Frank’s face. But if he’d thought the act would give him privacy, he was mistaken.

“Don’t try to stop me,” Giddings shouted, his voice clearly audible through the door. “I have to see her. Where is she?”

“She isn’t here,” Walcott said anxiously. “You must leave. The police-”

“Don’t threaten me with the police! Do you think I give a damn about them? I’ve got to see her. Anna!” he cried. “Anna, come down here!”

Walcott said something Frank couldn’t understand, and then he heard the sounds of a scuffle. In another moment, footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Giddings was calling for Anna again.

Frank exchanged a questioning glance with Mrs. Brandt.

“I think you should be the one to deal with him,” she said generously. “I’ll see if I can find out anything from the maid.”

It galled Frank, but he said, “See if that other girl lodger is still here. Maybe she knows something, too.”

Frank opened the parlor door and found Walcott staring helplessly up the stairs, as if unable to decide upon a course of action. Giddings was throwing open doors on the second floor and calling Anna’s name.

Frank shouldered Walcott out of the way and started climbing the stairs. By the time he’d reached the top, Giddings was standing in the open doorway of one of the rooms, staring stupidly into it. Hearing Frank’s approach, he turned accusingly.

“Where is she?” he demanded. Then he realized Frank wasn’t Walcott. “Who are you?”

“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy with the New York City Police,” he said. His tone wasn’t particularly menacing, but it didn’t have to be. Those words were enough to strike fear into a normally law-abiding citizen who had been causing a disturbance.

Giddings stiffened. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” he insisted.

“Besides forcing your way into someone’s home?” Frank inquired mildly.

“I was just-”

“Who are you looking for?” Frank asked sharply.

“I… Really, it isn’t important.” Giddings was starting to sweat in spite of the coolness of the day. He was probably remembering stories he’d heard about the police and how they treated people they arrested, innocent or not. Frank supposed he owed the press a debt of gratitude for their sensational stories if they put the fear of God into people like this Giddings.

“Were you looking for Anna Blake?” Frank asked.

“I… Yes, I was concerned about her. I haven’t seen her for several days and-”

“What is your relationship to her?”

Giddings needed a moment to think about that. “We’re… that is… She’s my fiancée,” he finally decided. He sounded oddly defensive.

Frank did not betray his surprise. “Then I suppose you haven’t seen the morning papers.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Giddings asked impatiently.

“Because if you had, then you’d know… Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Anna Blake was murdered the night before last.”

Frank watched his face carefully. He’d interrogated enough people that he knew a genuine reaction from a phony one, and the emotions played across Giddings’s face in exactly the right order. First shock, then disbelief.

“There must be some mistake,” he insisted, his mind unable to grasp such a horrible truth. “She was… She couldn’t be…”

“I assure you, there is no mistake. Anna Blake is dead.”

For a moment, Giddings couldn’t seem to get his breath. He reached out blindly for the doorframe and grabbed it for support. “How? When?” he asked faintly, the blood draining from his face as he slowly accepted what Frank had told him.

“Maybe you should sit down first,” Frank suggested. He glanced down the stairs and saw Walcott waiting, listening intently to every word. “Is this Anna’s room?” he asked Giddings, nodding toward the doorway where he stood.

The man nodded. Frank found it interesting he knew this fact if he’d never visited Anna’s room, as Walcott had insisted. He took Giddings’s arm and led him inside, closing the door behind him. Walcott would have to come upstairs and put his ear to the panel if he wanted to eavesdrop.

There was a chair in the corner of the sparsely furnished room, by the window, and Frank deposited Giddings into it. Then he perched on the edge of Anna’s carelessly made bed and waited. Human nature being what it was, he knew Giddings would break the silence very soon.

Frank took the time to study Giddings. His clothes were good quality. He was a man accustomed to dressing well, although his suit was a bit wrinkled, and his linen far from fresh. He’d been wearing it more than one day, which was probably unusual for a man of his obvious position in life. His hat was on crooked, and he hadn’t thought to remove it, a gesture that would have come naturally to him under other circumstances. He was well-fed but haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and a tightness around his mouth. A man of comfortable circumstances who found himself dealing with a crisis he couldn’t resolve.

Then, to Frank’s surprise, Giddings reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver flash. With practiced ease, he removed the top and took a healthy swallow. He didn’t offer to share before placing the flask safely back into his pocket.

“How did she die?” he asked when he’d given the whiskey a moment to work.

“Someone stabbed her. It happened in Washington Square.”

He started in surprise. “Who did it?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“But if someone stabbed her in a public place like that, someone must have seen who did it!”

“It happened at night. No one found her until morning.” He let that sink in, and then he said, “Do you know why she was out alone at that hour?”

“Of course not!”

“She wasn’t going to meet you, then?”

“I’d never expect a female to go out alone at night to meet me,” he insisted, affronted. “That wouldn’t be safe. I always called on Anna here at the house.”

“You said you were engaged,” Frank reminded him. “When were you planning to get married?”

Giddings blanched again, proving Frank’s theory that this had been a lie. “I… We… we hadn’t yet set a date,” he hedged.

“Is that because you’re already married, Mr. Giddings?” Frank inquired.

Now Giddings was frightened. “I can’t imagine why that’s any of your business,” he tried.

“When a woman is murdered, everything about her is my business. Now tell me how you met Anna Blake and what your relationship with her really was.”

Giddings rubbed a hand across his forehead. When his fingers bumped the brim of his hat, he quickly reached up and removed it, looking at it in amazement, as if he’d never seen it before.

“How did you meet her, Mr. Giddings?” he prodded.

“I’m an attorney,” he said, losing what little of Frank’s respect he still had. “Miss Blake came to me with a legal problem. She… something to do with a will. She was supposed to have received a legacy when her mother died, but an uncle had produced a more recent will which left everything to him. Anna insisted the second will had been forged, and she needed some legal advice.”

Anna Blake, Frank realized, had been a woman with a lively imagination. “Let me guess, she couldn’t pay your fee.”

“Of course not! She was penniless,” Giddings said defensively. “Her mother had died and her uncle had stolen her inheritance. She had sold all of her possessions to keep herself while she tried to find work, but you know how difficult it would be for a young woman of good family to find a suitable position. She couldn’t earn enough to keep a roof over her head. By the time she came to me, she was desperate. The only choice open to her was to… to sell herself. I couldn’t allow that to happen! What decent man could?”

“So as a decent man, you took her as your mistress instead,” Frank said.

Somehow, Giddings managed to work up some outrage. The color rose in his face and he started sputtering in protest, but his bluster soon evaporated under Frank’s unrelenting glare.

“You took her as your mistress,” Frank repeated.

“No, it didn’t happen like that!”

“How did it happen?”

Giddings had nearly ruined his well-made hat in his agitation, but Frank resisted the urge to take it from him. Instead, he sat still and waited. As he expected, Giddings came up with words to fill the silence.

“At first I just gave her some money. To keep her from the streets, you understand. I felt it was my Christian duty.”

Anna Blake had inspired Christian duty in many men, apparently. Frank nodded encouragingly.

“She was very grateful,” Giddings continued more confidently. “She promised she would repay me when she found work, but even when she found a place to take her on, they turned her out after only a few days. She didn’t know how to operate mechanical equipment, and the other girls treated her badly because she was so obviously better than they. The experience completely broke her spirit.”

“So you gave her some more money,” Frank said. “And eventually you became lovers.”

“No man had ever been kind to her before,” Giddings explained anxiously. “She fell in love with me! I was all she had in the world. How could a man resist such a temptation?”

“How indeed,” Frank agreed solemnly. “I expect any decent man would’ve done the same in your position.”

Giddings had the grace to flush and look ashamed. Frank enjoyed his humiliation for a moment before returning to the business at hand.

“Did she ask you to divorce your wife and marry her?” he asked.

“My wife would never consent to a divorce. The scandal…”

“Your wife wouldn’t have to consent, and we both know it, Giddings,” Frank said brutally. “You didn’t want a divorce because the scandal would hurt your business.”

“I have a son to think of,” Giddings tried. “I couldn’t ruin his life.”

“So you paid her off,” Frank guessed.

“Her demands were small at first. She had simple needs, she said. But then…”

“Then she found out she was with child,” Frank supplied.

Giddings looked up in genuine terror. “I couldn’t allow my family to find out! Or my partners! Our clients wouldn’t tolerate immoral behavior from a member of the firm.”

“So you paid her to keep silent.”

“But it was never enough! She kept wanting more and more. She thought I was rich, but I’m not. I earn a comfortable living, but I have a family to support and a home and servants and-”

“Where did you get the extra money, then?” Frank asked.

He rubbed his forehead again. Thinking about all of this was obviously painful for him. “I did nothing illegal,” he said after a moment.

“Would other people agree with that?” Frank asked mildly.

Giddings pressed his lips together until they turned white, refusing to reply.

“Well, then, suppose you tell me what law firm employs you so I can find out if they agree that you didn’t do anything illegal.”

“They’ll tell you nothing,” he insisted. “Attorneys know they don’t have to tell the police anything.”

This was true, much to the frustration of the police, but Frank figured he’d try anyway. If they were angry enough at Giddings, they might just enjoy betraying him. Or maybe someone at the firm enjoyed good old-fashioned gossip.

“Where were you night before last?” Frank asked.

Giddings refused to meet Frank’s eye. “At home in bed, I’m sure.”

“You can prove that?”

“I don’t have to prove it!”

“You do if I decide to charge you with Anna Blake’s murder,” Frank said. “Now do you have any witnesses that you were home all night?”

“My… my wife,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Then I’m sure she’ll be glad to vouch for you.”

From the expression on Giddings’s face, Frank could see that he wasn’t sure his wife would do any such thing. If she were angry enough, she might even lie to implicate him. Of course, if she was as afraid of scandal as Frank figured she was, she’d probably lie to protect him, no matter how much she hated him for betraying her. And there was always the issue of financial security to consider. If Giddings went to prison or was executed, who would support his wife? Many women would resign themselves to living with an unfaithful murderer if the alternative was starvation.

“Is it really necessary for you to talk to my wife?” Giddings asked.

“I could wait a few days to see if we find the killer… assuming, of course, that it isn’t you.”

“I would appreciate such a consideration,” Giddings said with surprising meekness for an attorney.

“Do you have a card? So I can get in touch with you,” Frank asked. A printed card would have Giddings’s true address on it, so he wouldn’t have to take the man’s word. He didn’t want to lose him now that he’d had the good fortune to find him.

Giddings fished around absently in his coat pocket and produced an engraved business card for Smythe, Masterson and Judd, Attorneys at Law. Impressive-sounding name, but Frank didn’t recognize it, which meant they probably didn’t involve themselves in criminal prosecutions.

“May I go now?” Giddings asked.

“Are you going to tell your wife that your mistress is dead?” Frank asked. “I’m sure she’ll be very relieved.”

Giddings refused to reply. He had a little pride left.

But Frank had no more patience. “Get out of here,” he said, and Giddings fled.

“THE MAID ONLY WORKS IN THE DAY, AND CATHERINE claims she was asleep when Anna left the house. She doesn’t have any idea what made her do it,” Sarah reported as she and Malloy walked back toward Washington Square. “Oh, and she must have left in a hurry because she didn’t take her purse with her. What did you learn from that fellow, what’s his name?”

“Giddings.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Gilbert Giddings.”

“He’s an attorney?” she asked, shamelessly peering at the card.

Malloy stuffed it back into his pocket and pretended to be annoyed. “So he says,” Malloy said.

“And he was also one of Anna Blake’s gentlemen friends,” she said when he offered nothing else.

“One of many, apparently,” Malloy allowed.

“Was he giving her money, too?”

“Yes.”

Sarah gave him an impatient look. “Malloy, you are the most insufferable… Do I have to give you the third degree to get information out of you?”

This ridiculous threat brought a small grin to Malloy’s face, but he said, “There’s nothing much to tell. Anna Blake told him some cock-and-bull story about how an uncle cheated her out of her inheritance-”

“But her mother was destitute when she died,” Sarah protested.

“Not according to Giddings.”

“That’s a different story than the one she told Nelson.”

“She needed a different story because she needed a different reason to go to an attorney than to a banker,” he pointed out. “Giddings took pity on her, gave her some money, and the next thing you know, she’s in a family way and needing more money than he can afford to give her.”

“Didn’t he offer to marry her?”

Malloy gave her a pitying look. “He’s already married.”

“Oh,” Sarah said, then remembered something. “Catherine Porter thought Nelson was married. She seemed very surprised to find out he wasn’t. Wouldn’t you think if a man was calling on a woman, you’d expect him to be single, not the other way around?”

“Unless you were planning to blackmail him.”

“Blackmail?” Sarah echoed in amazement.

“Yes, blackmail. That’s what Anna Blake was doing to Giddings, and what she was probably trying to do to Nelson, but it wasn’t going to work. Nelson wanted to marry her, not pay her off for her silence, the way Giddings was.”

“If that’s what she wanted to do, then why did she choose a bachelor like Nelson?”

Malloy shrugged. “Maybe she thought he was married. Catherine Porter apparently did.”

Sarah tried to make sense of it. “I guess we can ask Nelson.”

“We certainly can’t ask Anna Blake,” Malloy pointed out blandly.

Sarah ignored this provocation. “What did Mr. Walcott have to contribute?”

“Not much. He was out of town when Anna Blake was killed. Says he spends very little time at the house. He’s too busy spending his wife’s inheritance to bother with the comings and goings of her boarders.”

This didn’t make sense either. “If she has an inheritance, why do they take in boarders?”

“It wasn’t much, I gathered. Not enough to support them and pay for Walcott’s travels, at least. And he claims his wife likes cooking and cleaning for other people.”

Sarah made a rude noise at such a preposterous notion. “I’ll be interested to hear her side of that story. Where was she today?”

“Shopping, he said. I’ll go back another time and talk to her. What’s she like?”

Sarah considered. “Well groomed and nosy.”

Malloy raised his eyebrows at this assessment. “Your powers of observation amaze me, Mrs. Brandt. How would you describe Mr. Walcott?”

“Vain and selfish.”

“Why vain?” he asked curiously. Malloy had already given her the reasons to think him selfish.

“Did you see how carefully his hair was arranged? And how meticulous his clothes were? He spends a lot of time making sure he looks his best. He wants others to think as well of him as he thinks of himself.”

“Considering how much time you spent with him, that’s very impressive,” Malloy allowed.

“Oh, stop with the blarney, Malloy. You’re turning my head. And speaking of blarney, did you see the newspapers this morning?” she asked, outraged anew at the thought of them.

“I try to avoid reading the newspapers as much as I can,” he said.

“They said the most horrible things about poor Nelson! As far as they’re concerned, he’s another Jack the Ripper, slashing innocent women to death in the dark of night,” she said in disgust.

“What did you expect? They’re trying to sell papers, not get the facts right.”

“But they’re newspapers! Don’t they have an obligation to tell the truth? Mr. Pulitzer has devoted himself to uncovering scandal and corruption in society,” she said, naming the publisher of the World. “His paper is always crusading for one cause or another. Why would he allow his reporters to make up lies about innocent people?”

“That’s something you’ll have to ask Mr. Pulitzer,” Malloy said with a tolerant grin. “The fact is that newspapers will publish anything if they think it will make people buy papers. Look at that Italian woman who killed her lover, for instance.”

The story had sold millions of papers through her trial after she slashed her lover’s throat because he refused to marry her. “The press certainly wasn’t very kind to Miss Barberi,” she recalled, remembering the salacious details they had published about her.

“That isn’t even her name,” Malloy said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean her real name is Barbella. Somebody got it wrong in the beginning, and the rest of them picked it up. I asked a reporter once why they didn’t correct the mistake, and he said that Barberi sounded like barbarian, so it made better copy.”

“That’s horrible!” Sarah exclaimed.

“I’m not arguing with you. I’m just telling you what goes on. Let me guess what they said about Nelson. They said he’s an evil seducer who ruined an innocent young woman, got her with child, and then killed her so he didn’t have to support them.”

Sarah sighed. “One even suggested he’d killed her just because he got tired of her and wanted to find a new victim for his evil lusts.”

“Very imaginative. At this rate, the police are going to have to arrest him just so the public feels safe from a monster.”

Sarah groaned. “What are we going to do?”

“We are not going to do anything. You are going home to make sure Nelson and his mother stay safely in their house while I go back to Thompson Street and try to figure out who really killed Anna Blake before Bill Broughan decides to close this case by locking up Nelson Ellsworth.”

They’d reached Washington Square and stopped on the sidewalk at the southwest corner.

“What are we going to do about the newspapers?” Sarah asked.

Malloy looked pained. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? You do not have to do anything at all except worry about the Ellsworths.”

“Malloy, you know you need my help in this! I can get more information out of Catherine Porter and the maid. I just need to catch them when Walcott isn’t around.”

“Do you honestly think anyone will ever let you back in that house again?”

He might be right about that, so Sarah decided not to argue. “Then I can talk to the newspapers and try to get them to print the truth.”

“How are you going to explain your interest in Nelson Ellsworth’s welfare?”

“We’re neighbors!”

“You’re a woman, and he’s a man. You are no relation to him. You will be drawing the unpleasant attention of the press to yourself by trying to convince people he is innocent of killing a woman he seduced. Why would you do such a thing unless you were also his mistress?”

“No one will think that!” Sarah insisted without much conviction.

“Your mother would.”

Sarah glared at him, furious because he was right. Her mother would be very upset, but it wouldn’t be the first time Sarah had disappointed her. “I long ago stopped trying to please my mother.”

“Then protect yourself for your own sake. Believe me, you don’t want to know what the press will say about you if you become Nelson’s champion. Making a scandal of Felix Decker’s daughter would sell a lot of newspapers.”

Sarah’s family was one of the oldest in the city, descendants of the original Dutch settlers, nicknamed the Knickerbockers. Their socially prominent position made them perfect targets, too. Sarah had already caused them enough heartache by marrying beneath her social station and forsaking their way of life. Plastering their name all over the scandal sheets would be unforgivable.

“I hate it when you’re right, Malloy.”

“And I’m always amazed when you admit I am,” he countered. “Now go home. I’ve got work to do. I need to get this murder solved fast because I’ve still got my own work to do, too. Don’t forget, I’m not even assigned to this case, and if anyone finds out I’m doing Broughan’s job for him, I’ll be the laughingstock of the department.”

“I suppose you want me to tell you how grateful I am that you’re helping poor Nelson,” she said with a smirk.

“I do, but I don’t expect you will,” he replied with a smirk of his own. “Good day, Mrs. Brandt.”

He tipped his hat and walked away, leaving Sarah shaking her head.

FRANK DIGESTED THIS INFORMATION. GIDDINGS HAD given no indication of this earlier today. He had, however, offered his business card without protest, probably because he knew Frank wouldn’t find him here. “That’s interesting,” Frank said, betraying no reaction. “I don’t suppose you know where he is now employed.”

“I do not believe he is employed anywhere,” Mr. Smythe said.

And if he was, Smythe wouldn’t have told a policeman, Frank thought, but he said, “I need to speak with him on official business. Even though he no longer works for you, maybe you could help me locate him.”

“I am not in the habit of assisting the police,” he said without the slightest compunction.

“That’s a shame,” Frank replied, not offended in the least. “You see, I need to speak to Giddings about the murder of a young woman who may have been carrying his child. If he’s arrested for the crime, I might be annoyed enough by your lack of cooperation to make sure the newspapers mention the name of your law firm as his employer.”

Smythe’s bloodless lips tightened and a slight flush rose on his flabby, white neck, but he betrayed no other outward sign of his true emotions. “You are an expert negotiator,” he allowed grudgingly. “You should have been an attorney.”

Frank couldn’t help a small grin. “My mother wanted me to have a respectable profession.” Since police work was considered completely disreputable by people like Smythe, Frank wouldn’t have been surprised to be summarily thrown out.

But Smythe merely nodded his acknowledgment of the barb. “Wilbur will help you find Giddings’s address.”

He must have given some sort of silent signal, because at that moment the clerk knocked and came into the office, a questioning look on his young face.

“Please provide this gentleman with Mr. Giddings’s home address, Wilbur. Good day to you, sir,” he said, dismissing Frank.

“I’ll remember your assistance,” Frank promised.

“I’ll be happier if you forget you ever heard my name,” Smythe said and went back to reading the papers on his large, shiny desk.

Wilbur escorted Frank back to the front office and bid him be seated while he found the information Frank wanted. A few moments later, the boy handed him a sheet of expensive, watermarked paper bearing the neatly printed address of a house in the genteel neighborhood near Gramercy Park.

Frank carefully folded the paper and put it in his pocket, taking his time as Wilbur continued to wait apprehensively. Maybe he was afraid Frank would arrest him or something. He felt like shouting “Boo!” just to see the fellow jump, but somehow resisted the urge.

Out on the street, Frank checked his watch and found that he still had time to stop by the Giddings home before going to his own flat for supper. Giddings’s house was on his way home anyway.

Most nights he worked too late to see his son before the boy went to sleep. For too long, he’d used his job as an excuse to completely avoid the anguish that seeing Brian caused him. Not only was the boy’s existence a constant reminder of the mother who had died giving him life, but his pitiful condition was a painful affront, proving how helpless Frank was at the hands of fate.

Sarah Brandt and her meddling had changed all that. Everyone else had branded Brian a feeble-minded cripple, but she saw what no one had ever noticed. She’d shamed Frank into taking the boy to see a surgeon who had operated on his club foot, with a promise Brian would be able to walk when he was finished. Then she had seen the intelligence glimmering in Brian’s bright blue eyes when no one else had bothered to look for it, and she had realized that his mind was fine, except for being locked inside of a body that couldn’t hear. Soon Frank would make a choice about what kind of training he was going to get for the boy, but he’d decided to wait until his foot was healed before making any more changes in Brian’s young life.

Of course, he might have just been using that as an excuse. If the truth were told, it wasn’t the boy he was so worried about upsetting. His mother was difficult in the best of times, and now she was frightened. She wanted what was right for Brian, of course, but she didn’t agree with Frank about what that might be, especially if it meant Frank didn’t need her to care for the child any longer. Nothing he said made much difference, so arguing with her was frustrating and annoying. But he’d tolerate her tonight for the boy’s sake. In some ways it was a blessing Brian couldn’t hear.

SATURDAY MORNING WAS PROBABLY A GOOD TIME TO catch her mother alone, Sarah thought. She’d made two promises to Mrs. Ellsworth, and seeing Webster Prescott was just the first. She’d also agreed to convince the bank not to fire Nelson. For that she’d need more than the gumption that had taken her into the World. For that she’d need Felix Decker. Since the best way to influence her father was through her mother, that’s where Sarah headed next.

As she rode the Sixth Avenue Elevated uptown, she wondered whether she’d made the right decision in going to Prescott. He’d seemed enthusiastic about her story and had promised to investigate. Of course, that might mean he’d come up with something even more outlandish than the reports of Nelson being a killer. It might even mean involving herself in this scandal. That was, however, a chance she’d been willing to take. If her good name was completely ruined in this cause and decent women no longer hired her to deliver their babies, she could always throw herself on her father’s mercy. He’d be only too glad to take her back into his home-and his control-once again, she thought grimly.

But she wouldn’t borrow trouble, as Mrs. Ellsworth would have advised her. She had to hope Malloy was making progress in finding Anna’s real killer. Meanwhile, she’d do what she could to make sure this terrible situation wasn’t any worse for Nelson than it already had been and that he had a job to return to when he could safely leave his house again.

Her parents lived on Fifty-Seventh Street, not far from the Plaza Hotel and Marble Row on Fifth Avenue, home to the more ostentatious of the wealthy. The Deckers’ town house appeared modest on the outside, which suited them. They had always been modest about their wealth.

The maid seemed surprised to see her, since few members of society were stirring at this hour, but she admitted her and escorted her to the back parlor, which was the comfortable room the family used. In a few minutes, the maid came back, alone.

“Your mother asked me to take you up to her room, since she isn’t dressed yet,” the girl said.

Sarah smiled. Her mother must be appalled that Sarah was not only dressed but out and about so early on a Saturday, although by most people’s standards, it wasn’t early at all. She followed the maid up the stairs and down the corridor. Her mother’s voice bid her enter when the girl knocked.

Elizabeth Decker looked like a girl herself, draped in a silk dressing gown and half reclining on her settee. Her golden hair lay loose on her shoulders, and in the dimly lit room, the silver strands weren’t visible. Neither were the fine lines that the years had etched on her lovely face, and the smile of greeting she gave Sarah banished any lingering illusion of age.

“Sarah, how delightful to see you!” she said, reaching up to return Sarah’s kiss of greeting.

Her mother’s cheek was soft beneath her lips, and Sarah felt a rush of fond memories at the touch. Memories of happier days, long before she and her sister had grown old enough to see the world the way it really was and to rebel against the lives they had been bred to assume.

“What urgent business has brought you out at this unfashionable hour?” her mother asked, bringing her back to the present.

“What makes you think I have urgent business?” Sarah asked, seating herself on the slipper chair beside her mother. The room was decorated in shades of rose, with elaborately carved cherry wood furnishings. The color, Sarah realized, was very flattering to a woman of a certain age, especially when the morning light was filtered through it.

“I don’t want to sound accusing, but it seems the only time you come to visit me is when you need my assistance in one of your wild escapades,” she chided.

“Oh, Mother, I-”

“I’m not complaining, mind you,” her mother said, raising her hand to stop Sarah’s protest. “I suppose I should be glad you live such an interesting life. Otherwise, I might never see you at all. Now, what is it you want me to do?”

“Actually, it’s father’s help I need this time,” Sarah admitted.

Her mother sighed in feigned disgust. “So you’re only using me to influence your father,” she complained. “I might have known it would come to this. Really, Sarah, I’d think you’d learned your lesson. The last time you asked for our help, it ended very badly.”

Sarah winced, remembering just how badly. “No one is going to end up dead this time, I promise.”

“I should hope not! Mrs. Schyler won’t even speak to me anymore.”

“Oh, Mother, you never liked her anyway. She’s a terrible woman.”

“Yes, but you might alienate someone I do like if I’m not careful. Who is it you want to meet this time?”

“I’m not sure,” Sarah admitted.

“Not sure? Then how do you think your father can help?”

Sarah sighed. She’d have to tell her mother the whole story. “Well, you see, there’s been a murder…”

“Oh, Sarah, how do you manage to get involved in these things?” her mother cried in dismay. “I’m almost twice as old as you, and I’ve never even known anyone who was murdered!”

“I didn’t know this person either,” Sarah defended herself. “Not well, at least.”

Her mother put a hand to her forehead and shook her head sadly.

“My neighbor has been accused of killing her, you see and-”

“Oh, dear, stop right there. Let me ring for some tea. I can see this is going to be a long story, and I, for one, need fortification. Pull the bell, will you, dear?”

An hour later, Sarah and her mother were finishing up their tea and the last of the delicious pastries the cook had sent up with it, just as Sarah finished her story.

“I promised Mrs. Ellsworth I’d help Nelson keep his job at the bank, but I know there’s nothing I can do. If I walked in there and asked to see the president of the bank, they might let me in to see him, but he’d probably laugh right in my face or worse. It seems that when a woman takes an interest in helping a man, people always assume there is some romantic attachment between them. That’s not only annoying, but it also causes people to misinterpret the woman’s motives in trying to help.”

“You don’t have to instruct me in the ways of the world, Sarah. I understood them long before you were born. At least you have the good sense not to involve yourself in this. You could do this poor man more harm than good if you did. Can you imagine what the newspapers would say if they found out who your father is?”

Sarah simply nodded, knowing anything she said on the subject would upset her mother. She only hoped she never had to explain just how Webster Prescott had come to name her as Nelson Ellsworth’s paramour in The World.

“You were right to come to us,” her mother was saying. “I’m sure your father can speak to the president of this bank, whoever he is. Of course, if your friend is arrested for murder, I’m not sure even your father’s influence would save the man’s job.”

“My friend Mr. Malloy is working on the case. I’m sure he’ll find the real killer very soon,” Sarah said to reassure her.

Her mother looked far from reassured, however. “Are you still seeing that policeman, Sarah?”

“I was never seeing him, Mother,” Sarah said. “We are friends, nothing more.”

“An unmarried female can never be just friends with an unmarried man, not in the eyes of the world. You must know that yourself. Do you have any idea how easily such a relationship can be misconstrued?”

“Of course I do,” she insisted. “And believe me, there is nothing between us that could even be misconstrued.”

“I hope not. You know we didn’t approve of your marriage to Dr. Brandt. Not that we had anything against him, of course. He was a fine man. But you gave up everything for him, Sarah.”

“I didn’t give up anything I ever regretted losing,” Sarah said, ignoring the flash of pain the mention of her late husband caused.

Another kind of pain flashed in her mother’s eyes, but she chose not to dwell on it. “Even though we didn’t want to see you so reduced in circumstances, at least Dr. Brandt was a respectable man with an honest profession. But a policeman, Sarah? They’re worse than the criminals they deal with!”

Her mother was right; policemen were corrupt. Malloy was as honest as he could be, under the circumstances, but even that wouldn’t meet her mother’s standards. “You’re worrying for no reason, Mother. I have no intention of marrying Mr. Malloy, and he has no intention of marrying me.”

“I don’t see how he could have,” she said. “He’s Irish, isn’t he? They aren’t allowed to marry outside their faith.”

By “Irish,” she meant “Catholic,” and being Irish Catholic was a far greater sin in Elizabeth Decker’s eyes than being a dishonest policeman. Sarah wanted to chasten her for such prejudice, but she knew it would be a waste of breath and would only distract her from her real purpose in being here. “As I said, we aren’t going to marry, so it can’t possibly matter,” she said wearily.

Only then did she see the depth of concern in her mother’s blue eyes. “There are more things than that to worry about, dear. Be careful, Sarah. I know you’re lonely, and this man knows it, too. He’ll try to prey on that loneliness. Don’t let him deceive you, darling. Don’t be a fool.”

So that’s what her mother was really concerned about! Sarah should have been angry at her lack of faith, but the thought of Malloy as a sly seducer of lonely widows was so ludicrous, she could only laugh. And when she thought of Malloy’s mother and how she’d probably given him exactly the same warning about Sarah, she laughed harder.

Her mother stared at her incredulously. “Sarah?”

“Oh, mother, if you only knew… Believe me, you don’t need to worry about Malloy, not for one moment. My virtue and reputation are safe. In fact, they couldn’t be safer.”

Her mother frowned in confusion, but she didn’t press the matter. Sarah had either alarmed her or reassured her, but whichever it was, she was willing to let the subject drop.

“Is Father home today?” Sarah asked when she had composed herself.

“I believe he is. Let’s find out, shall we?”

She and her mother discussed society gossip, avoiding personal topics by unspoken consent, while they waited for a servant to summon her father. A few minutes later, he knocked on the door connecting their bedrooms, and her mother bid him enter.

“Sarah, you’re out early,” he said, coming over to kiss her forehead. He wore a dressing gown and a collarless shirt. Plainly, he’d had no plans this morning. He turned to his wife. “Good morning, my dear. You’re looking lovely.” He also kissed her on the forehead.

Sarah realized she’d never seen her parents embrace. They would think displays of affection unseemly, of course, but still, she liked to think they did at least sometimes display affection, however privately. Why this thought should occur to her at this particular moment in her life, however, she had no idea.

Her father seated himself on the slipper chair that matched hers. “To what mischance do we owe the honor of your visit this morning?” he asked her with a hint of a smile.

“Father, I don’t only visit you when I need help,” she reminded him.

“No, but you rarely call at dawn on Saturday morning, either,” he replied. “This must be urgent indeed.”

“Someone has been murdered,” her mother informed him with disapproval.

“Dare I ask who? Not someone we know, I hope.”

“Not his time,” her mother said. “A female of questionable morals, it would appear.”

“Then why do you care?” her father asked Sarah, even more disapproving than her mother.

“Because my neighbor has been accused of the crime,” Sarah said. “He’s innocent, but the newspapers have already pronounced him guilty, and they’re saying terrible things about him. Untrue things, and he’s probably going to lose his job if someone doesn’t do something.”

Her father frowned. “Is this that Ellsworth fellow I read about in the papers? They said he seduced some poor woman and killed her when she demanded that he make her an honest woman.”

“None of it is true,” Sarah said, and briefly gave him the facts as she knew them. “I believe we are going to find the real killer soon, but meanwhile the reporters have been hounding Nelson’s employers, and I’m afraid they’re going to let him go, innocent or not.”

“Who is this ‘we’ you mentioned?” her father asked.

“What?” Sarah asked in confusion.

“You said ‘we’ are going to find the killer. What did you mean? You aren’t involved with that policeman again, are you?”

Sarah sighed wearily. “Mother already warned me not to let him seduce me, Father. I promise you, you have nothing to worry about on that score. I only meant that Mr. Malloy is working to find the killer, and I am working to help the Ellsworths in whatever way I can. This is why I’ve come to you,” she quickly continued, before her parents could press the issue. “If Nelson loses his position at the bank under these circumstances, he’ll never get another one. He is the sole support of his elderly mother, who also happens to be a dear friend of mine. Someone needs to speak with his employer and convince him not to dismiss him, so I thought I would try to repay the many kindnesses Mrs. Ellsworth has done for me through the years by saving her son’s job, if I could.”

Her parents exchanged a glance, and some unspoken communication passed between them without either of them so much as batting an eye. Her father turned back to her, his expression resigned. “What is it you think I can do?”

Sarah managed not to let her feeling of triumph show. It would be unseemly to gloat. “Obviously, I can’t go into the bank and beg them not to dismiss Nelson.”

“Not without making herself a scandal,” her mother added.

“I was hoping you might have some influence with someone there who could-”

“Which bank is it?” he asked.

Sarah gave him the name.

He considered for a moment, then turned to his wife. “Young Dennis is in charge there,” he told her.

“Richard?” she said, her expression brightening.

“Yes, his father thought he should have some practical experience.”

“You know him, then?” Sarah asked.

“Very well. His father and I were partners in a business venture a few years ago.”

“Oh, Father, that’s wonderful! Would you be willing to approach him? I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t so important, but poor Mrs. Ellsworth is so frightened-”

“Of course, of course,” he said, dismissing Mrs. Ellsworth’s fears with a wave of his hand. “I don’t think it would be fair for me to approach him on this subject, however. He would certainly feel an obligation to do me this favor, although he might wonder about my motives. Ellsworth is a stranger to me, after all. And if things go badly for Ellsworth, poor Dennis would believe I’d taken advantage of our friendship to get him into an awkward situation. Even worse, he’d be right.”

Before Sarah could even register disappointment, her mother said, “But Sarah could argue his case, couldn’t she? I mean, if you were to arrange for them to meet. You could summon him here on a business matter, then introduce him to Sarah. He’d realize you were just doing a favor for your daughter, indulging her in this whim even though you didn’t really approve, but he’d still feel obligated to help because of his father’s association with you.”

“Yes,” Sarah agreed eagerly. “And if, heaven forbid, things do go badly for Nelson, you can simply apologize for indulging your foolish daughter and dragging him into it.”

“He’ll forgive you that, surely,” her mother said. “Men always understand when another man is imposed upon by a woman.”

Her father frowned. “Why do I feel I’m being imposed upon right now?”

“Because you are, dear,” her mother said with a sweet smile.

SARAH GOT HOME EARLY THAT MORNING AFTER DELIVERING a baby girl, so she had time for a brief nap before meeting Malloy at the Walcott house. Her nap was cut even shorter when someone knocked on her door. Fearing another delivery would keep her from visiting Mrs. Walcott, she was relieved to find one of her parents’ servants with a message from her mother, inviting her to supper that night to meet Mr. Richard Dennis. Her father had kept his promise!

She was still a little groggy when she left her house, but the combination of her appointment this evening, the prospect of learning more about Anna Blake, and the brisk fall air quickly revived her. She took an umbrella with her because it looked as if a storm was brewing.

By habit she glanced over at the Ellsworth house, expecting to see Mrs. Ellsworth coming out onto her porch, broom in hand, to inquire into her business and warn her about some omen or offer her a good luck charm. But the shades were all pulled tight and the front door remained tightly closed against intruders. She wondered if Malloy had told Nelson about the story in The World that branded him a perfectly justified killer instead of a wanton one. Nelson probably wouldn’t appreciate the difference. She would have to be very convincing with Mr. Dennis if she hoped to save Nelson’s job at the bank. With any luck at all, she’d be able to influence him before he’d had a chance to act on the story.

Washington Square was busy on this cloudy Sabbath afternoon. Families dressed in their Sunday best hurried to their destinations, trying to beat the gathering storm. No one had time to remember a woman had died right here less than a week ago. Sarah hurried past the hanging tree, trying not to look at the place where Anna Blake had lain and trying not to think of the irony that she died beneath a tree of death.

Thompson Street was quieter than the Square, although people were rushing about here, too, on their way to or from Sunday visits. She saw no sign of Malloy when she arrived at the Walcott house, but then she hadn’t heard the city clocks striking the hour yet either. Slowing her step, she looked around, wondering what she should do. Standing on the pavement in front of the house would be a little too obvious and would certainly attract attention, and besides, it might start raining at any moment. Her presence also might warn Mrs. Walcott that trouble was on the way and allow her to make her escape out the back door. She didn’t have time to form a plan, however, because the front door of the Walcott house opened, and Catherine Porter looked out.

“Mrs. Brandt?” she called.

Sarah looked up in surprise. “Yes?”

“That police detective is here. He told me to watch for you.”

So much for needing a plan. Sarah made her way up the front steps with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she was furious with Malloy for not waiting for her. He’d probably been there for an hour and was finished with his questioning. He’d let Sarah examine the dead woman’s room and then they’d leave. She wanted to wring his neck.

Catherine closed the door, not quite meeting Sarah’s eye, as if she knew Sarah wanted to ask her about things she didn’t want to discuss. “They’re in the parlor,” she said, gesturing to the closed doors. “He said to go on in when you got here.”

Sarah would have preferred to be announced, but with a sigh of resignation, she slid open the pocket doors and found Malloy and Mrs. Walcott sociably drinking tea and chatting about the weather.

Malloy’s expression changed at the sight of her. Although it couldn’t exactly be called a smile, he did look somewhat pleased to see her. Mrs. Walcott, however, seemed less so. They both set down their cups and rose to their feet.

“Mrs. Brandt, isn’t it?” Mrs. Walcott said with a practiced smile. “How nice of you to come.” Once again, she was dressed in fashionable good taste, her artificial hair perfectly styled.

“I see Mr. Malloy told you to expect me,” Sarah said, nodding to her hostess and giving Malloy a glare.

“As I explained, Mrs. Brandt has agreed to give me the benefit of her medical knowledge to assist me in this investigation,” Malloy said with a straight face. “I’m told there are some delicate matters about this case that a female could address more easily.”

Mrs. Walcott frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Malloy. Please sit down, Mrs. Brandt. Would you like some tea?”

Sarah allowed that she would, and she took a seat beside Malloy on the sofa. While Mrs. Walcott served her, she tried to catch Malloy’s eye so she could let him know just how unhappy she was with him, but he refused to cooperate.

“I’m very sorry about Miss Blake’s death,” she said finally.

“She was a lovely girl,” Mrs. Walcott said, handing Sarah a fragile China cup and saucer.

“How long had she lived here?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, four or five months, I believe. Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Walcott had a sweet, well-modulated voice. She could have passed herself off as a society matron in the right venue. Today she wore black, probably for mourning. She had a cameo brooch pinned at her throat, and black lace mitts on her hands once again. At least she looked the part of lady of the manor.

Sarah glanced at Malloy again, waiting for a cue. Had he already finished questioning her? “Have you been here long, Mr. Malloy?” she asked.

“Just a few minutes,” he replied smugly, recognizing her annoyance and enjoying it. “I was waiting for your arrival. Mrs. Walcott, I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened the night Anna Blake died.”

Mrs. Walcott’s cup rattled in the saucer, and she quickly set it down. “Forgive me,” she said, folding her hands tightly in her lap and lowering her head for a moment to regain her composure. “It’s still very difficult to discuss this.”

“I’m sure it is,” Malloy agreed sympathetically, “but if we hope to find out who killed her, we have to know where she went and who she saw.”

“Of course, although I don’t believe I’ll be much help to you.”

“Just tell us what you know,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Walcott nodded, took a deep breath, and began. “Anna had seemed distressed about something. Even more distressed than she had been ever since she discovered that… Well, I think you know her situation.”

“I know what she said her situation was,” Malloy corrected her. “She’d told two different men that they’d gotten her with child, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Mrs. Walcott registered her surprise, but she continued resolutely. “I’m sure I don’t know any more than that some man had taken advantage of her and she was distraught, as anyone would be. I had begun to worry that she might harm herself. Many young women in her position do, you know.”

“So she was unusually upset that night,” Malloy prodded.

“All day, in fact. She hardly left her room.”

“Did she have any callers?” Malloy asked.

Mrs. Walcott considered for a moment. “I’m sure this had nothing to do with her death, but…”

“Someone came to see her?”

“Yes, a… a young man,” she admitted with apparent reluctance.

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t give his name, and she didn’t reveal it. He wasn’t here long, and Anna left the house shortly after he did.”

“Did he go upstairs with her?”

Mrs. Walcott looked shocked. “Certainly not! I run a respectable house here.”

Sarah knew Malloy could have disputed that, but instead he asked, “Was she happy to see this young man?”

“Not particularly. And while I didn’t listen at the door or anything like that, I couldn’t help but hear that their voices were raised at one point.”

“They were arguing?”

“That was my assumption,” Mrs. Walcott said primly.

“Where did Anna go when she left the house?”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t confide in me, but I did gather she was meeting someone.”

“Any idea who it was?”

Mrs. Walcott shook her head gently. Sarah observed that she took care not to disturb her elaborately coiffed wig. “I can’t imagine she was meeting a woman,” she said reluctantly. “She didn’t know any other females that I’m aware of, and a woman would probably not be out herself in the evening like that.”

“What time did she leave?”

“I didn’t pay attention to the exact time,” she said apologetically. “I had no idea it would be important.”

“How long was it after the young man left?”

“Not long,” she said, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to recall. “Not more than half an hour, I’d guess, although I can’t be perfectly sure.”

“Was it dark out when she left?”

“Certainly not. I never would have permitted her to go out after dark.”

“How was she dressed?” Sarah asked, earning a frown from Malloy for interrupting.

Mrs. Walcott looked surprised at the question. “I don’t think I noticed.”

“If you saw the clothes in her room, could you tell which ones are missing?” Sarah asked.

Mrs. Walcott considered. “Probably.”

“What difference does it make what she was wearing?” Malloy asked irritably.

Sarah ignored him. “Could we go up to her room to look?”

Mrs. Walcott looked to Malloy for his approval, irritating Sarah in turn, but she supposed he was in charge. He nodded grudgingly, and they all rose. Mrs. Walcott led the way out into the hall and up the stairs.

Malloy grabbed Sarah’s arm, holding her back. “What difference does it make what she was wearing?” he asked in a whisper. “We could ask the coroner that.”

“Isn’t this a better way to get into her room than asking permission to search it?” she asked sweetly.

All she got in reply was a grunt, but he released her arm and allowed her to follow the landlady.

Upstairs, Mrs. Walcott was waiting for them outside the closed door, as if reluctant to enter without them. “I haven’t disturbed anything in here. It… it didn’t seem right. I’d be happy to send her things to her family, but I don’t believe she had any.”

She pushed open the door to the room and stepped aside for Sarah to enter. Malloy stood in the open doorway with Mrs. Walcott, watching her.

The room looked like thousands of others just like it all over the city. The furniture was cheap and worn. A metal bedstead dominated the small space. It had been carelessly made, the coverlet lying crooked. Some clothes hung on pegs along one wall. A dresser stood nearby, and a wash-stand occupied the opposite corner. A small, battered trunk sat at the foot of the bed.

Sarah began by examining the garments hanging on the pegs.

“Did you know that Nelson Ellsworth was paying Anna’s rent?” Malloy asked the landlady while they watched Sarah.

“Good heavens, no!” She sounded thoroughly shocked.

“How did you think she managed, since she didn’t have a job?” he asked curiously.

“She had an inheritance,” Mrs. Walcott said. “At least, that’s what she gave me to believe. Mr. Ellsworth was managing it for her. He worked at a bank, I believe. That’s why he’d taken an interest in her.”

“And what about Mr. Giddings?” Malloy asked.

“What about him?”

“He was giving her money, too. Who did you think he was, her rich uncle?”

Mrs. Walcott took offense at his tone. “He was her attorney,” she sniffed indignantly. “They had matters of business to discuss about her mother’s estate.”

Mrs. Walcott was either stupid or lying, Sarah thought as she took a mental inventory of Anna Blake’s wardrobe. Sarah saw the girlish gingham dress Anna had been wearing the one time they had met and another that was apparently her “good” dress, the one she would have saved for special occasions. She also had a black bombazine skirt and matching jacket, which would have done for almost any occasion. A fringed paisley shawl hung on one of the hooks, and Sarah fingered it, impressed by its quality. Probably a gift from a besotted admirer, she thought. Beside it hung a fancy hat, probably the one she saved for “good,” and another, less ornate one, for everyday wear. What hat would she have been wearing when she went out? It seemed unlikely she’d own more than two.

The dresser drawers held extra pairs of undergarments and stockings, two waists, and a nightdress. A comb and brush lay on the dresser, and a glass bowl held extra hairpins. Oddly enough, the bottom drawer of the dresser held a case of some kind. Sarah glanced at Mrs. Walcott to see how closely she was being watched and if the other woman would offer some objection to her examining it.

Mrs. Walcott frowned when Sarah drew the case out of the drawer, but she didn’t object when she opened it. To her surprise, Sarah discovered it contained a wide variety of face paint, far more than a respectable woman would ever need to own. Anna Blake had a more interesting background than she had led anyone to believe. She glanced at Malloy to make sure he’d seen the contents of the case before closing it and returning it to its proper place.

Lastly, she opened the trunk. As she had suspected, this contained Anna’s winter clothing. A heavy wool cape and a rabbit fur muff lay on top. Beneath them were several woolen skirts and some jackets, a flannel petticoat, and a knitted scarf, nothing very intriguing.

Sarah caught Malloy’s eye again. “Would you like to look around?”

He did, of course, and he was less discreet. Without asking for leave, he took the corner of the mattress and lifted it up to peer underneath. Then he picked up the pillows and pulled back the covers. He pulled out the drawers again and felt beneath them, in case something had been stuck to the bottoms. With calm efficiency, he searched all remaining crannies of the room and found nothing.

Except for the face paint, the room contained not one hint that Anna Blake was anything other than she had appeared to be. And of course, there were no letters or diaries giving more insight into her background or helpfully naming her killer.

Sarah turned to Mrs. Walcott. “Can you tell what she was wearing that night?”

The landlady looked at the clothing again. “She had a brown dress, I think. Yes, I believe that’s what she was wearing. At least, that’s all I can tell is missing.”

Something had been bothering Sarah about Anna’s wardrobe. Now she realized what it was, but she said nothing. Her theory could wait until she and Malloy were alone.

“What did this young man look like?” Malloy asked Mrs. Walcott. “The one who called on Anna the night she died.”

“Very ordinary. Tall and thin, the way boys are before they mature.”

“How was he dressed?”

“He looked like a laborer. His clothes were coarse and dirty, although his manners were good. He was very polite to me, although he was impatient to see Anna.”

“Was he polite to Anna?” Malloy inquired.

Mrs. Walcott looked away. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but…”

“Anna wasn’t polite to him?” Malloy guessed.

“She was angry with him for some reason, from the instant she saw him. As I said, they argued, and he left rather quickly after that, slamming the door behind him. And then, as I said, Anna left also.” She seemed to realize something suddenly. “Oh, dear, do you suppose…?”

“Suppose what?” Malloy asked with interest.

“That young man, he could have waited for her or seen her leaving. He could have followed her and started quarreling with her again,” she said, shaking her head. “I never should have let her leave the house that night.” With a graceful gesture, she pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, even though Sarah saw no visible tears.

Malloy ushered Sarah out of Anna’s room, and Mrs. Walcott closed the door behind them.

“Is there any other way I can assist you?” Mrs. Walcott asked as they made their way down the stairs.

Malloy waited until they had reached the front hallway before replying. “I can’t think of anything… Oh, wait, there was something. One of your neighbors said she heard your cellar door opening late that night. Could you explain that?”

Mrs. Walcott blinked in surprise and looked a bit nonplussed. “Yes, I can, although it’s a bit embarrassing. And it can’t have anything at all to do with Anna’s death. You see, my maid has been complaining about an odor in the cellar. She thought some small animal had died down there, although we couldn’t find anything. I opened the cellar door in an attempt to air it out.”

“In the middle of the night?” Malloy asked skeptically.

“It wasn’t the middle of the night,” she said, waving such a thought away with her handkerchief. “I did wait until full dark, though. Leaving one’s cellar door open in the daylight is simply inviting someone to sneak in and steal something. I didn’t think anyone would see that it was open in the dark, though.”

Malloy nodded. “Did the odor go away?”

“No, but I asked my husband to spread some lime, and that helped. I’m afraid the poor dead creature is in one of the walls. We’re just going to have to wait for nature to take its course, I suppose.”

Sarah and Malloy took their leave, although Sarah was loath to go out. The sky looked even more threatening than before, and the wind was picking up. She hoped she could get home before the storm broke. And how would she get to her parents’ house tonight without getting soaked? She didn’t want to look like a drowned rat when she was trying to convince Mr. Dennis not to dismiss Nelson Ellsworth from the bank. But of course, she had no choice about going out. Mrs. Walcott certainly wasn’t going to invite her to stay.

As soon as they were safely away from the house, Sarah let Malloy know how displeased she was. “How long were you questioning her before I arrived?”

He gave her a measuring look, although she could see the amused glimmer in his dark eyes. “I’d only just gotten there myself. Do you think I’d presume to do my job without your assistance, Mrs. Brandt?”

She decided not to press the issue, since they both knew she had no right to assist him at all. “Did you see that case of face paint in Anna’s room?”

“Yes. What would she have done with something like that?”

“Painted her face, obviously,” Sarah said, “although she wasn’t painted when I saw her, at least not noticeably. I doubt someone who was would have appealed to Nelson, in any case. Anna’s allure was her apparent youthful innocence and helplessness. Only a prostitute would need that kind of paint for her face.”

“Do you think she was a prostitute before she met Nelson?”

Sarah considered. “If she was, she must have been a high-class one. She had a gentility about her that you don’t see in street walkers.”

“High-class whores don’t paint their faces like the street walkers do, either,” Malloy informed her, “for the same reason Anna Blake didn’t.”

“I bow to your more extensive experience in such matters,” Sarah couldn’t resist saying. “But then why would she need so much paint? It had obviously been used a lot, so she must have needed it at some time in her life.”

“What other kind of women paint their faces?” Malloy asked, thinking aloud.

The answer was so obvious, Sarah felt foolish. “Actresses!”

“Stage actresses,” Malloy agreed. “Could she have been an actress?”

“Of course, it makes perfect sense!” Sarah cried in triumph. “And I’d forgotten, Catherine Porter was an actress, too. The maid mentioned it, and she admitted it. Anna-and probably Catherine, too-was pretending to be an innocent girl, telling Nelson and Giddings outrageous lies but making them believe her stories. She was so convincing, they never doubted her for a moment, either!”

“To the point where Giddings was willing to jeopardize everything he had to take care of her.”

“Exactly! That’s how she could be so convincing. In fact, I remember thinking the first time I met her that Nelson had gotten himself into a melodrama.”

“Actresses aren’t generally known for their strict moral standards, either,” Malloy remarked.

“So they wouldn’t mind the necessary seduction,” Sarah said, deciding she’d better get hold of her hat before it blew right off her head.

“Or the lying,” Malloy said, holding on to his own hat. “And in Nelson’s case, at least, I don’t think the seduction even happened.”

“What?”

Malloy gave her a sideways glance. “There was only one… uh, incident. Nelson was overcome by drink at the time, and he doesn’t actually remember what happened.”

“If he was overcome with drink, nothing could have happened,” Sarah pointed out indignantly.

Malloy frowned in disapproval. She supposed he didn’t think she should know such an obviously masculine secret. “Our Mr. Ellsworth doesn’t seem to be aware of that.”

“If he doesn’t remember, then what makes him think he did anything?” Sarah demanded.

“Miss Blake told him all about it. Tearfully.”

Sarah groaned. “How could he be so stupid?”

“I’m afraid that’s a mystery I don’t have any hope of solving, so I’m going to content myself with just trying to figure out who killed her.”

“If she was an actress, at least we can find out some more about her. Someone will know her at the theaters. We could ask around.”

“Why?” Malloy asked with another frown.

“She might have had enemies before she ever met Nelson,” Sarah suggested hopefully. “There might be dozens of people she knew before who wanted her dead.”

Malloy gave her a pitying look.

“But it’s not very likely, is it?” Sarah admitted.

Malloy shrugged. “There’s always a chance. But I think Giddings is a better chance. He had very good reason to want Anna Blake dead.”

“Except he didn’t act like a killer that day he came to the house looking for her. He was genuinely distraught when he found out she was dead.”

“Or maybe he’s as good an actor as Anna Blake. He wasn’t home when I went to his house, so I didn’t get a chance to question him any more. I’ll try again tomorrow, and if he’s not home, I’ll find him this time.”

Sarah remembered something else. “Who do you think the young man was who visited Anna that night?”

“I think it was Giddings’s son, Harold. He knew about Anna, and he wasn’t happy about her. His family lost everything because of her. When Giddings got caught stealing from his law firm, he had to sell everything he owned to repay the debt, including their furniture.”

Sarah winced. “How humiliating. His wife must be devastated.”

“She’s hiding it pretty well, trying to keep up a good front for the boy, I guess. But she’s got to hate Anna Blake, too.”

“Oh, my, do you think Mrs. Giddings could be the killer?” Sarah asked with genuine interest.

“Women commit murder, too,” he reminded her.

She knew that only too well. “Did Mrs. Giddings strike you as a murderess?”

“Not really, but you can never tell about that kind of woman. They’re good at hiding their real feelings.”

Sarah could have given him a thousand examples of women of all kinds who were good at that, but she didn’t bother. “Mrs. Giddings probably wouldn’t have been out in the evening alone, though,” Sarah said, “and certainly not in Washington Square.”

“Anna wasn’t killed in the Square.”

“What do you mean? That’s where she was found,” Sarah reminded him.

“The coroner also told me that she walked a ways after she was stabbed. He could tell by the way she’d bled on her dress. She was stabbed somewhere else and was probably trying to get back home to get help when she collapsed in the Square.”

“So she could have been stabbed anywhere,” Sarah said, trying to figure out what this might mean. “Even someplace where she might have met Mrs. Giddings.”

“Or her son,” Malloy said.

Washington Square was just across the street, but they had to wait for a break in the steady stream of carriages and wagons to give them an opportunity to cross. The wind had started to stir up clouds of dust and dirt, and Sarah began to think this might not be an ordinary storm. While they stood there, squinting their eyes against the gritty wind, they heard someone calling Malloy’s name.

Malloy muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse when he turned and saw who was running toward them. “Even God took a day of rest, Prescott,” he grumbled when the gangly reporter reached them.

“I went to the boarding house where Miss Blake lived, and they said you’d just been there,” Webster Prescott said. He was breathless from running, and his fair face had pinkened from the exertion. He looked like a very tall child who had been chasing his hoop in the street. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brandt,” he added with a gesture that might have been a tip of his straw hat if he hadn’t been struggling to hold it on his head. “How nice to see you again.”

Sarah could see the speculation in his eyes, but she wasn’t about to confirm or deny anything about her relationship with Malloy, especially when she had no idea in what direction he might be speculating. “It’s nice to see you, too, Mr. Prescott. I’ve been wanting to have a word with you about that story you wrote about Mr. Ellsworth,” she added grimly.

He didn’t seem to sense her anger. “My editor was very pleased with it, too. We sold out of last night’s edition, and I ran a longer piece this morning. Now I need some more information, and I thought I might get it from Miss Blake’s landlady.”

“But she sent you packing,” Malloy guessed.

Prescott wouldn’t admit such a thing. “She said you had just questioned her and warned her against speaking to the press.” He managed to appear offended.

“And you thought you’d get some information out of me?” Malloy asked incredulously.

Prescott smiled guilelessly. “No, but I thought Mrs. Brandt might be willing to share some with me.”

“I certainly am not!” Sarah informed him. “I told you Nelson Ellsworth was innocent, and you twisted everything I said to make him sound guiltier than ever!”

“But after what I revealed about Anna Blake, he’ll never be convicted,” Prescott argued. “Most of the other papers have also started reporting that Anna Blake was a seductress who tried to ruin Ellsworth. By the time he goes to trial, there won’t be a man in the city who’d judge him guilty.”

“But he shouldn’t go to trial at all!” Sarah fairly shouted. “He didn’t kill her!”

Prescott opened his mouth, no doubt intending to say something even more infuriating, but Malloy interrupted him.

“Anna Blake was not expecting a child,” he said.

“She wasn’t? How do you know?” Prescott asked in amazement.

“The coroner told me, and he should know. She was only pretending to be distraught about her condition, but that was pretty easy for her, because she also happened to be an actress.”

Sarah wanted to slap him. Why was he telling this traitorous reporter anything at all, much less information they’d gathered with such difficulty?

“An actress?” Prescott repeated, pulling a notebook out of his pocket. He snatched the pencil from behind his ear and had to remove his hat and tuck it under his arm because he no longer had a free hand with which to hold it while he wrote. “Where did she perform?”

“I don’t know. That’s up to you to find out, but it shouldn’t be too hard. You probably have a lot of friends in the theater.”

“Was Anna Blake her stage name?” Prescott asked, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

“That’s something else you’ll have to find out on your own.”

“How did you discover that she was an actress?” Prescott asked.

“I’m a detective,” Malloy reminded him with only a trace of irony. “Finding things out is my job.”

“What else do you know about her that you’re not telling?” Prescott asked, including Sarah in the inquiry.

She almost told him what she thought of his cheekiness, but Malloy grabbed her elbow in a bruising grip to silence her.

“I know I’m going to start telling any other reporters who ask me everything I just told you, so if you want to scoop them, you’d better get busy.”

Prescott’s pink face split into a triumphant grin. “Thanks, Malloy. Mrs. Brandt,” he added with another quick tip of his hat as he placed it back on his head, and he vanished into the crowd of people leaning against the wind while they waited to cross the street.

“Why did you tell him about Anna being an actress?” Sarah demanded, now almost as angry with Malloy as she was with Prescott.

“To get rid of him. We don’t want him following us around. He might tip off the real killer once we start getting closer. And if he and the rest of the press are nosing around the theaters, they won’t be bothering the Ellsworths.”

“But what if Anna’s killer is someone she knew at the theater?” Sarah asked indignantly.

“Then maybe he’ll get frightened and make a mistake, and I’ll catch him. But chances are it was somebody from Anna’s present life who killed her. She was living very dangerously, after all. When you start ruining men’s lives, you make people desperate. One of those people got desperate enough to kill her.”

Suddenly, there was a break in the traffic, and Malloy fairly dragged her across the street, somehow managing to dodge the piles of horse droppings that had accumulated since the street cleaners had finished their duties early that morning. When they had arrived safely on the other side, in the Square, they paused for breath, turning their backs to the wind, and Malloy released her arm. Sarah rubbed her elbow and glared at him, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“Someday somebody’s going to figure out a way to control that mess,” Malloy said, frowning back at the sweating, swearing drivers and their rigs that had once again closed ranks behind them.

“Are you going to see Giddings now?” she asked.

He gave her one of his looks. “Even God got a day off,” he repeated.

She felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you should take some time and spend it with Brian. How much longer until he gets the cast off?”

“Week after next.”

She could see the worry deep in his dark eyes. “He’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ll go with you to the doctor’s if you’d like. And if I don’t have a delivery,” she added.

He looked uncomfortable with her offer. She supposed he wanted her to go with him but didn’t want to admit it. “Are you going home now?” he asked instead.

“For a while. I’m having supper with my parents this evening.”

He glanced up at the threatening sky. “Better leave early if you want to get there. And remind Nelson not to leave the house yet. I’ll be over to see him after I’ve talked to Giddings.”

They parted company, and Sarah again walked past the spot where Anna Blake had died. But not where she had been attacked, she reminded herself. That had happened somewhere else. She couldn’t help thinking that if she could discover where, she’d also know who the killer was.

“RICHARD, MY BOY, HOW ARE YOU?” HER FATHER ASKED, shaking his hand.

Sarah didn’t like the sound of that “my boy,” especially when she saw that Dennis was just as surprised by the familiarity as she. Felix Decker was never effusive.

“We were afraid you might not make it because of the storm,” her father continued.

“I couldn’t allow you to think I was afraid of a little rain, could I?” Dennis replied. He did look amazingly dry, considering how the wind was howling outside. Sarah couldn’t help wondering how his driver had fared and if he’d agree on the assessment that they were having “a little rain.”

“How are your parents?” her father asked, escorting him into the room.

“Very well, thank you,” Mr. Dennis replied, recovering quickly. “They asked to be remembered to you both.”

While Dennis greeted her mother, Sarah studied him, taking in the details of his appearance with a growing sense of dread. When her father had referred to him as “young” Dennis, she had pictured someone barely old enough to shave. Richard Dennis, however, was at least thirty. While he couldn’t be called conventionally handsome, he was certainly appealing in a well-kept, well-bred sort of way. He carried his rather tallish figure easily beneath his tailor-made suit, and he effortlessly exchanged pleasantries with Elizabeth Decker. Sarah knew beyond the slightest doubt that Richard Dennis would prove to be what her mother considered a very eligible bachelor, which explained her parents’ willingness to help her in this matter. They had eagerly arranged this meeting in hopes of making a suitable match for Sarah.

“And this is my daughter, Mrs. Sarah Brandt,” her father was saying, turning Dennis’s attention to her.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a genuine, if slightly bemused, smile, as he took her offered hand in his. “You misled me, sir,” he said, turning back to her father when he’d released Sarah’s hand. “I thought this would be a dry business discussion, and here you have provided the company of two very lovely ladies instead.”

“Oh, we will be discussing business,” Mr. Decker assured him, “but it’s Sarah who wished to consult with you, not I.”

“And my father was gracious enough to arrange for us to meet,” Sarah supplied, trying to keep any hint of annoyance out of her voice. It wasn’t Mr. Dennis’s fault that her parents wanted to find her a socially acceptable husband. “I hope you will forgive him for misleading you and indulging me.”

Now Dennis looked intrigued. “I’m rarely called upon to discuss business with charming females, Mrs. Brandt. For that alone, I would forgive him.”

Sarah would have quickly made her case for Nelson Ellsworth, but her parents weren’t accustomed to doing things hastily. Getting right down to the issue would be considered bad taste and worse manners. They’d set out to entertain Mr. Dennis, and they would. Her father offered him a drink to ward off the harrowing effects of the storm, and her mother made small talk while Sarah tried to be pleasant. Pouting wouldn’t endear her to Richard Dennis, and she needed his help desperately.

Fortunately, Sarah had spent her youth learning just how to conduct herself in social situations, and she called upon all of those skills now. After a few awkward moments, she found herself slipping naturally into the conversation. She hadn’t seen most of the people about whom they spoke for many years, but she did remember most of them.

“Surely, we must have encountered one another at dancing classes at some time or another, Mrs. Brandt,” Dennis said after a few minutes.

“Sarah is several years younger than you, Richard,” her mother explained. “She wasn’t even out yet when you married Hazel.”

Richard Dennis was married. For one second, Sarah thought she’d been horribly mistaken and that her parents hadn’t arranged this little party to introduce her to a potential husband. But then she saw the shadow pass across Richard Dennis’s finely boned face. She recognized that flash of pain, the same one she felt whenever someone mentioned Tom, and she understood why her parents had considered Richard Dennis so perfect for her.

The shadow passed quickly, however. He was accustomed to dealing with his pain, which mean he’d lost his wife some time ago. “So that explains why I don’t recall ever stepping on your toes while trying to master the waltz, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a smile.

“I’m sure you never could have done such a thing, even in your youth, Mr. Dennis,” she replied as expected, returning his smile and pleasing her mother enormously.

The maid summoned them to supper, and Mr. Dennis offered his arm. Sarah took it and continued to smile, reminding herself that he was just as much an innocent victim here as she. She only hoped she could lead him to understand that she’d had no part in the planning of this, either. On the other hand, he might be flattered if he thought she was attracted to him or had asked to meet him. If she decided that was the best course of action, she was more than willing to flatter him to gain his cooperation.

She tried not to think how similar that would be to what Anna Blake had done to Nelson Ellsworth and Mr. Giddings.

Supper was a simple affair with fried oysters, cold chicken, Welsh rarebit, preserved fruit, stewed tomatoes, roasted potatoes, Charlotte Russe, ice cream, and cake.

As they made their way through the various courses, Mr. Dennis eventually had to express some interest in Sarah.

“I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed as adults, Mrs. Brandt,” he said.

“We don’t keep the same society,” Sarah said with a smile. “I live down in Greenwich Village.”

He obviously found that odd but was too polite to say so. “It’s a very picturesque part of the city,” he said diplomatically.

“My husband’s work was there, and we enjoyed living in the neighborhood.”

“Sarah’s husband was a physician,” her mother hastily-and somewhat apologetically-explained. “He passed away several years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Mr. Dennis said. “I lost my wife, too. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t have a high opinion of the medical profession as a result.” His smile was infinitely sad.

“I understand,” she said. “I also wish that medical science could do more to save lives, but even after centuries of study, we still know very little about the causes of death and disease. It’s very difficult for me in my own work that I simply can’t save everyone.”

Sarah ignored the warning look her mother was giving her. She wanted to disenchant Mr. Dennis as quickly as she could and confessing her profession seemed the simplest way to do it.

“Are you a physician as well?” he asked in disbelief.

“A midwife,” she said.

“Sarah was always independent,” her father explained, with only a hint of disapproval.

“An admirable quality,” Dennis said, skillfully concealing whatever his true feelings on the matter might be. “Your life must be very interesting.”

Sarah could have shocked him right out of his chair, but she said, “I’d be bored without my work. I need to feel I’m being useful.”

Mr. Dennis had most certainly never imagined that a woman might be bored with the life of a society matron. To give him credit, however, he seemed at least willing to consider the possibility. “But surely, you must attend only women of your own class.”

“I attend whoever needs my services,” Sarah replied. “I don’t work to amuse myself, Mr. Dennis. I work to make my own living.”

He looked at her as if she were an entirely new kind of creature, but amazingly, she saw no disgust, or even disapproval, in his light eyes. “Hazel, my wife, she sometimes visited a Settlement House on the Lower East Side. I thought she did it because it was fashionable among her friends to play Lady Bountiful to the poor.”

“The Settlement Houses provide valuable services to the women and children in that part of the city,” Sarah said. “Your wife was also helping save lives, in her own way,” she added generously, without any real knowledge of what actual services Mrs. Dennis might have performed.

Sarah’s parents were listening to this conversation with growing discomfort. They knew such things weren’t suitable topics for discussion at table or between members of the opposite sex at any time. On the other hand, Mr. Dennis didn’t seem shocked or even put off by Sarah’s unorthodox vocation or her outspoken opinions. They hardly knew what to think.

But Sarah’s mother couldn’t abide any more of this. “How did your parents enjoy their trip to Europe this summer?” she asked Mr. Dennis, effectively changing the subject for the remainder of the meal.

When the ladies withdrew so the men could smoke their cigars, Sarah steeled herself for her mother’s indignation.

“Really, Sarah, must you inform everyone you meet that you are employed as a midwife? Some people might find that distasteful,” she said when they were alone.

“I’m not ashamed of my life, Mother, and I hope you aren’t ashamed of me.”

Her mother frowned, not pleased by Sarah’s attempt to make her feel guilty. “It’s not a matter of shame. It’s a matter of good taste. I thought you wanted Richard’s help for your friend. He’s much more likely to help you if you excite his chivalrous feelings.”

“Instead of putting him off with my independence?” she asked with just a trace of irony.

Somehow her mother managed to resist the temptation to argue with her. “I’m simply reminding you that men like to feel superior to women. If we let them believe we are helpless, they will gladly do whatever we require of them and consider themselves honored to have been of service.”

“Are you saying that men must be tricked into behaving well?” Sarah asked in amazement.

“Of course they do,” her mother said impatiently. “I thought you most certainly must have learned that by now. Men rely on women’s gentler natures to help them overcome their baser instincts. A businessman wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to dismiss your friend after the scandal he’s caused the bank, whether he actually killed that woman or not. I’m not convinced your friend even deserves your help, but since you’ve chosen to offer it, you must ingratiate yourself to Mr. Dennis to compel him to betray his natural impulse and do something kind instead.”

“And it won’t hurt if Mr. Dennis is so impressed with my gentle nature that he falls in love with me, either, will it?” Sarah asked with a sly grin.

Her mother shook her head. “I despair of ever seeing you wed again, Sarah. Dr. Brandt must have been a very tolerant man indeed to have endured your willfulness.”

Tom Brandt had reveled in her willfulness, but Sarah knew her mother wouldn’t believe her if she said so. “I’m perfectly happy as I am, Mother, and I have no intention of pretending to be something I’m not just to catch a husband.”

“If that’s your attitude, then I’m afraid you never will,” her mother said sadly.

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence until the men joined them a few minutes later. Sarah had seated herself on a sofa so Mr. Dennis could sit beside her to facilitate their discussion of what Sarah wanted of him. Fortunately, he took the hint and seated himself just where she’d wanted him.

“Perhaps you’d play for us, my dear,” Mr. Decker said to his wife, surprising Sarah. She’d assumed the two of them would want to be included in her conversation with Dennis, but her mother rose obediently-too obediently, which meant they’d arranged this ahead of time-and went to the opposite end of the room where a small piano sat. Her father went with her and turned the pages as she played some simple pieces that were neither loud nor lively enough to interfere with Sarah’s purpose but which provided just the right amount of privacy for the younger couple.

“You must imagine I’m going to ask for a very great favor,” Sarah said with a small smile when Dennis looked at her expectantly.

“For your sake, I hope you are. I could hardly refuse you anything after your parents have gone to such lengths to ensure my cooperation,” he replied with a smile of his own.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Dennis. I hope you’ll believe that I don’t have any designs on your person,” she said.

“Why would I be worried by that?” he bantered back. “In fact, I shall be very disappointed if you don’t.”

Sarah had to stifle a laugh at that. “You must understand that my parents believe I married beneath my station,” she explained, “and ever since my husband died, they’ve been trying to rectify the situation. I had no idea you were a widower when I asked my father to introduce us.”

“But your parents did,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And they were doing what parents do. Mine do the same thing, Mrs. Brandt, and with amazing regularity. I can’t tell you how many women they’ve thrust into my path in the past five years. It’s actually refreshing to discover that others are being imposed upon in the same way.”

Sarah shook her head. “We must stop smiling at each other, Mr. Dennis, or my mother will be sending out our engagement announcement in the morning mail.”

“And she knows I’m too much of a gentleman to renounce it, so you must help me avoid this very cleverly set trap. Quickly, tell me why you needed to meet me. That should certainly stop us both from smiling.”

At the thought of her mission, Sarah did indeed grow solemn. “It’s about Nelson Ellsworth.”

His smile vanished as well. “Ellsworth? What do you know of him?”

“He’s my neighbor, Mr. Dennis, and his mother is a dear friend of mine. I owe her a debt I can never repay, and I can’t stand by while her son is ruined through no fault of his own.”

Dennis had instantly become the cold-hearted businessman her mother had described. “I don’t believe he can be considered free of fault in this matter, Mrs. Brandt. He did seduce that young woman, and it appears that he-”

“Actually, it appears that she seduced him, Mr. Dennis.”

“What?”

“Anna Blake was not what she appeared to be. She took great pains to appear young and innocent, but we now believe she made a career out of seducing and blackmailing vulnerable men.”

At least he was still listening. “What do you mean by blackmailing?”

“She would convince a man that she was alone in the world and penniless, then begin an illicit relationship with him. She would pretend to be with child and then demand money from the man. She did the same thing with another man, a married man who couldn’t afford a scandal. He actually stole money from his employer to satisfy her demands.”

“And she did this to Ellsworth, too?”

“Yes. And she wasn’t even with child. She lied about everything, to both men.”

Dennis frowned. “All the more reason why a man would be furious enough to murder her, Mrs. Brandt.”

“But Mr. Ellsworth didn’t kill her. You know him. He couldn’t possibly do violence to anyone, certainly not a female.”

Dennis smiled condescendingly. “Ellsworth is fortunate to have you as his champion, Mrs. Brandt, but you are hardly in a position to know that for a fact. Men will do strange things when their passions are aroused.”

Sarah forced herself not to take offense. “Actually, I do know for a fact that Nelson didn’t kill her, and the police are going to arrest the real killer very soon.”

“How could you know such a thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Because I have been working closely with one of the detectives on the case.”

Now she’d shocked him. “You associate with the police?” he asked incredulously.

Once again, she forced herself not to take offense. “Not all of them are corrupt, Mr. Dennis,” she chided. “Don’t you read the newspapers? Teddy Roosevelt has made significant changes in the department. Officers are promoted on the basis of merit now, and corruption is punished.”

Dennis was unconvinced. “You are a courageous woman, Mrs. Brandt, but you’re naive if you believe the police are any better than the criminals they purport to control. Not even our friend Teddy can change that.”

Sarah wanted to be outraged. She wanted to defend Malloy and convince Dennis of the foolishness of his prejudices, except that she knew he was right. No matter what Teddy Roosevelt told the press or how righteous he tried to be, the corruption in the police department went too deep and had endured too long for a few months of reform to change things. Rumors about Teddy campaigning for McKinley for president so he could get a more important job in the national government were already rampant. The instant he resigned as police commissioner, the department would return to being just what it was before.

“Mr. Dennis,” Sarah said, “all I’m asking is that you give Nelson Ellsworth the benefit of the doubt for the time being. If he really is innocent, as I believe, you will have ruined his life for no reason if you dismiss him from his position. He’s the sole support of his widowed mother. Could you live with that on your conscience?”

Richard Dennis sighed in defeat. “I’m sure you wouldn’t allow me to, Mrs. Brandt. All right, I’ll at least wait to see what transpires. But if he’s charged with murder, I will have no choice but to dismiss him. I’m afraid that’s the most I can promise.”

“Oh, Mr. Dennis, I can’t thank you enough!”

“But,” he said, stopping her effusive gratitude with an upraised palm, “I can’t permit him to return to work until this is settled, one way or the other. Those hounds from the press have been an unbearable nuisance all week, and if he were there… Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain. People expect their bank to be quiet and dignified and trustworthy. If it isn’t, they move their money elsewhere.”

“I’ll make sure Nelson understands. He is as concerned about the bank’s reputation as you are, and he certainly doesn’t want to encounter the press, either.”

“But if the killer isn’t identified quickly,” he warned, “I can’t promise how long I’ll be able to keep him on.”

“Of course, but it won’t be much longer,” she assured him, without the slightest compunction about lying. She had no idea how long it would take to catch the killer, or if he’d ever be caught at all. But at least she’d accomplished her purpose, and Nelson’s career wouldn’t be ruined just yet.

“Now tell me, Mrs. Brandt, how on earth did you ever decide to become a midwife?” Dennis asked, changing the subject completely.

Since he seemed to be genuinely interested, she gave him the slightly edited version of the story, simply mentioning that it was a relative’s death in childbirth that had inspired her choice of careers. They chatted about inconsequential things for a few more minutes, until her parents judged it was safe to join them again. Then her father engaged Dennis in small talk until their guest deemed he had fulfilled his social obligations. In view of how violent the storm outside had become, this was rather sooner than he might have left, but the Deckers had no choice but to allow him to go.

Sarah gave him her hand, and he bowed over it. “It’s been a delight meeting you, Mrs. Brandt. I hope it won’t be long until we encounter each other again.”

“I hope so, too,” she replied sincerely, “and I promise not to ask you any favors next time.”

“Even if you did, I could only be flattered by your attention,” he replied.

Sarah smiled at the compliment, and he returned her smile. She didn’t dare look at her parents. They must surely believe their matchmaking had been a success, and oddly enough, Sarah was no longer annoyed with them for tricking her. Meeting Mr. Dennis had been a pleasure, especially because he’d proven himself a reasonable man by doing what she asked him. Nothing could have made him more attractive to her. No, she wouldn’t mind a bit if their paths crossed again.

“Did Richard agree to help your friend?” her mother asked when her husband had walked Dennis out and they were alone.

“Yes, he did,” Sarah said. “And thank you for arranging for me to meet him.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you were angry with me for that.”

“I was merely annoyed, and not because you arranged for us to meet. You should have warned me, however, that he’s a widower. I’m not the only widow he’s ever been thrown together with, Mother. He had a right to feel he’d been deceived after Father invited him here to discuss business.”

“But you did want to see him because of a business matter, didn’t you, dear?” her mother asked without a trace of regret. “And if he suspected we were bringing him here to meet our daughter, he might not have come at all, especially with the weather being so bad.”

“So I’m in your debt,” Sarah said with a trace of amusement.

“Of course not,” her mother insisted. “We would do anything in our power for you, Sarah, without ever expecting something in return. Surely, you know that.”

“Especially if it involves meeting eligible men,” she said, not believing her mother’s protests for an instant.

“I hope someday you will thank us for that. You and Richard seemed to get on very well.”

“Once he agreed to help Nelson, we got along famously,” Sarah agreed. “Mr. Dennis is charming. How did his wife die?”

“Brain fever, they said. She fell ill, and the doctors could do nothing for her. They hadn’t been married very long. He was devastated, naturally, and he went to Europe for a while to recover.”

“And when he returned, his father put him to work at the bank,” Sarah guessed.

“Something like that,” her mother said. “I don’t know all the details.”

Her father came back into the room. “Dennis thanked me for introducing you,” he said to Sarah. “He seemed quite taken with you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Father,” Sarah chided. “I can be very charming when I make up my mind to it.”

“Apparently,” he replied, “but I felt certain you were trying to put him off with all that talk at supper about being a midwife.”

“Not every man would consider that off-putting,” Sarah said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.

“Then we’re fortunate Dennis isn’t one of them,” her father said, annoying her all over again.

“Now, dear,” her mother chided, “we mustn’t argue. Sarah has made a new friend, and she has also helped her neighbor. It has been a very successful evening.”

Her father took a seat opposite her. “So it appears. You would do well to cultivate your acquaintance with young Dennis,” he advised. “He has a promising future, and he stands to inherit a fortune.”

“What other recommendation could I need?” Sarah replied sarcastically.

“Sarah,” her mother cautioned, “there’s no reason to take offense. Your father and I only want to see you comfortably settled. Is that so wrong of us?”

“I’d prefer you wanted to see me happy,” Sarah said with a sigh.

Her mother’s smile was sad. “Why can’t they be the same thing?”

SARAH MADE HER WAY QUICKLY DOWN BANK STREET, clutching her umbrella against the rains that had returned and trying not to look at the Ellsworths’ front porch. Not seeing Mrs. Ellsworth there, waiting to speak a cheery word and commiserate with her, was too depressing after the day she’d had. At least the baby she had delivered today had been born healthy. This morning, upon returning home from her parents’ home where she’d spent the night, she’d been trying to decide what she could do that would help exonerate Nelson Ellsworth when an elderly gentleman had come to her door. He’d begged her to come immediately.

His granddaughter was giving birth, he told her, and indeed she was, even though she was only thirteen and hardly more than a baby herself. The girl was, in fact, his great-granddaughter, the illegitimate child of his granddaughter who’d died giving birth to her. He and his wife had taken the child to raise, since their daughter had long since deserted the family. They’d hoped to be able to keep this girl-child from the fates of her mother and grand-mother, but she’d been seduced-or raped, the difference was slight for a girl so young-by some older boys in the neighborhood. Even the girl herself had no idea which of them had fathered the child. In spite of all odds, the baby and the mother appeared to be doing well, however, and the baby was a boy. If nothing else, he’d never give birth to a child before even reaching maturity. Of course, he might die of disease or neglect before reaching maturity, too. Sarah couldn’t allow herself to think of such things, though. If she did, she’d give up completely.

She’d purchased a copy of the Evening World from a newsboy on Fifth Avenue, but she hadn’t looked at it yet. If Webster Prescott had written another story about Anna and Nelson, she didn’t want to discover it until she was sitting down in the privacy of her own home.

To her relief, no reporters loitered in front of the Ellsworth house this evening. She wondered if they had just taken shelter from the weather or if they were following other threads of the story. She could even go knock on the Ellsworths’ front door today without risking making a public spectacle, but she decided to wait until she’d had time to get a bite of supper first. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, having refused the offer of a meal at the flat where she’d delivered the baby today. They hadn’t looked as if they could spare any food, and only the fear of wounding their pride had induced her to accept a payment for her services. Fortunately, they hadn’t suspected that the amount she’d charged them was only a fraction of her usual fee.

From habit, she glanced over at the Ellsworths’ porch as she unlocked her own door and stepped inside. She would never complain again about her neighbor being nosy, she vowed.

She found some bread and cheese and made herself a sandwich. As she sat to eat it, she spread the newspaper on the table in front of her. The headline she was looking for was prominently displayed: ACTRESS PLAYS A DEADLY ROLE.

“Malloy,” Sarah muttered, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Although the newspapers did not identify the reporter who had written each particular story, Sarah easily recognized Webster Prescott’s handiwork by the content. The article revealed that prior to her death, Anna Blake had made her living “on the boards,” playing a succession of minor roles in minor productions produced by minor production companies in obscure theaters. The titles of the plays were suggestive, such as Molly, Girl of the Streets and The Rape of the Sabine Women. If Anna Blake had appeared in anything like a serious drama, Prescott hadn’t seen fit to mention it. He was more interested in sensationalizing her past and making her sound like a scarlet woman who had seduced innocent gentlemen and deserved her awful fate.

Sarah knew perfectly well that Anna Blake was a scarlet woman, of course, but she hated seeing the newspaper say so. Too many people already judged females too harshly. Girls like the one whose baby she’d delivered today were branded as harlots and worse, as if they’d chosen their fates instead of being victimized, since men seemed to delight in blaming females for their own debauchery. Heaven knew, the boy who had fathered that girl’s baby would never suffer any stigma because of it.

How curious, then, that Mr. Giddings and Nelson Ellsworth had truly fallen prey to a seductress. Women who fell from grace were always branded as evil, but few really were the kind of schemer that Anna Blake was. And oddly enough, such women could only dupe unworldly, middle-class men. Wealthy men would either pay them off or laugh at their threats-if you were rich enough, you need fear nothing. Poor men would also laugh-the poor could not afford niceties like honor and responsibility. Only men who had something worth protecting but little means of protecting it were susceptible to the Anna Blakes of the world.

She had, Sarah reflected, chosen her victims well, however. While Giddings wasn’t personally wealthy, he was comfortable enough and so positioned in life that he couldn’t afford a scandal. He also had access to ample funds, and if pushed far enough, as he was, he would steal them to protect his good name.

But what still didn’t make sense, at least to Sarah, was why Anna had chosen Nelson Ellsworth. Like Giddings, he did have access to vast amounts of money, even though he wasn’t wealthy himself. But as a bachelor, he needn’t fear scandal, and if his better nature demanded that he provide for his child, he could marry the mother, which he had offered to do. No matter how many times Sarah thought about it, she couldn’t make sense of it. Why choose Nelson?

She’d finished up her sandwich and washed it down with some cider that was beginning to turn. She’d have to offer it to Malloy when he came next. He wouldn’t mind hard cider, she thought with a smile.

Briefly, she considered taking the newspaper over to her neighbors, but then she decided against it. She could tell them the information. They didn’t have to know Nelson was still being mentioned prominently on the front page of every scandal sheet in town.

WHEN MALLOY KNOCKED ON HER DOOR, SARAH WAS still sitting in the chair where she’d been when Richard Dennis had left almost an hour earlier. She forced herself to get up and let him in.

As soon as Malloy saw her face, he frowned. “What happened?”

“I did a very stupid thing,” she said, waiting until he’d hung his hat, then leading him back into the kitchen. She didn’t even bother to ask herself why she took him into the kitchen. It just seemed the right place to go.

“Does this have anything to do with Anna Blake’s murder?” he asked as he seated himself at the table. “Or is this stupid thing something in your regular life?”

“Both,” she said, filling the coffeepot with water. “I can’t believe I did this.” The worst part was that she hadn’t mentioned to Malloy that she was going to meet Richard Dennis and ask for his help because she’d been afraid he wouldn’t approve. If only she’d given him a chance to talk her out of it!

She put some kindling into the stove and lit it, then fed in some wood until the fire was going. Only when she felt the heat did she realize how cold she’d become, sitting alone with her guilt as night settled over the city. When she had put the coffee on to boil and had nothing left to do, she forced herself to take the seat opposite Malloy and look him straight in the eye.

But when she saw his worried frown, she had to cover her face with both hands and groan. She didn’t deserve his concern. At least it would vanish the instant she told him what she’d done. She could deal with his anger. She deserved that, after all.

“I asked Nelson’s employer not to dismiss him,” she said.

“That doesn’t sound so stupid,” Malloy said. “Unless he turned you down.”

Sarah rubbed her temples where a headache was throbbing. “He didn’t turn me down. He promised to help for as long as he could or until Nelson was arrested, which I assured him wouldn’t happen.”

He didn’t say anything, and she hazarded a glance at him. He still looked worried. About her. She wanted to groan again.

“He didn’t dismiss Nelson, but he did have some auditors come in to check the bank’s books. He was just being careful, he said. Because Anna Blake had blackmailed another man who stole money from his employer to pay her.”

“You told him that?” Malloy asked incredulously.

“I warned you this was stupid!” she cried. “I was trying to convince him that Nelson was an innocent victim of a evil woman. I wanted him to know just how evil she really was!”

“So he was afraid Nelson was stealing from the bank to pay her off, too,” Malloy said. “And was he?”

Sarah buried her face in her hands again. “Oh, Malloy, he couldn’t have been! I know Nelson would never steal from anyone!”

“But…?” Malloy said.

She swallowed the bile that rose up in her throat. “But there’s ten thousand dollars missing from the bank.”

“Good God.”

“My reaction exactly.”

“Have you told Nelson all this?”

“I haven’t had the courage to face them yet,” she admitted. “I know he didn’t do it, but…”

“He’ll deny it even if he did,” Malloy pointed out. “Is this bank fellow going to press charges against Nelson?”

“He said he wasn’t. He said the scandal would be bad for the bank. In situations like this, they handle things very quietly. They’ll simply dismiss Nelson.”

Malloy’s frown deepened. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money. I’d think they’d try to get at least some of it back from him. Giddings’s law partners made him repay them.”

“I got the impression that Mr. Dennis was going to cover the loss himself. He doesn’t hold out much hope of getting anything from Nelson, I guess. Mr. Dennis’s father put him in charge of the bank so he could prove himself, and he’d rather lose the money than his father’s respect.”

“How do you know so much about this Mr. Dennis and his personal life?” Malloy asked suspiciously.

This is the part she’d been dreading. “My parents arranged for us to meet last Sunday so I could plead Nelson’s case to him. I couldn’t just walk into his office, a total stranger, and ask him to do something like that!” she protested at his disapproving scowl. “He’d think I was insane.”

“But when Felix Decker’s daughter asked him, he couldn’t refuse,” Malloy guessed.

Sarah didn’t like the way that sounded “I’d like to think I also impressed him with my personal charm.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“What does that mean?” Sarah demanded.

“That means… Never mind what it means. How did you find out about the missing money?”

“Mr. Dennis came by this evening to tell me.”

“How considerate of him,” Malloy said acidly. “Did he go next door and tell Nelson, too?”

“No, I…” Sarah hesitated when she realized she hadn’t even inquired about this.

Malloy raised his eyebrows. “Was he going to leave that to you?”

“We really didn’t discuss it,” Sarah snapped. “I’m sure he’s going to officially notify Nelson that he’s dismissed or something.”

“So this visit he made to you, was that considered unofficial?”

“It was a courtesy, so I wouldn’t think he’d betrayed my trust when he dismissed Nelson.”

“He’s a real gentleman. Except, of course, that he’s covering up a crime and letting a thief get away. Wasn’t he even interested in finding out if Nelson really was the one who stole the money? Because if he wasn’t, then he’s still got a thief working for him.”

“He… I didn’t think to ask him that,” Sarah admitted. Her headache was pounding even harder now. “I’ll go see him first thing in the morning and point that out.”

“No, you won’t,” Malloy said. “I’ll go see him.”

“He doesn’t want the police involved,” she reminded him. “If he knows I sent you-”

“He won’t know anything. I’ll tell him Nelson sent me. Nelson didn’t do it, and he wants the real thief caught. He also wants his name cleared, so he asked me to investigate.”

That sounded fairly reasonable, she supposed, although Dennis wouldn’t like it. “Oh, Malloy, how could this have happened? How could money be missing from the bank at the same time Nelson was being blackmailed?”

Malloy stared at her for a long moment, his broad face expressionless, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “It might be because Nelson really did take the money.”

But Sarah had spent the past hour considering that very possibility. “No, I’m sure he didn’t take it.”

“You can’t be sure,” he reminded her.

“Yes, I can. It’s too much money.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ten thousand dollars! Anna had only asked for one thousand. Before that, Nelson had been paying her rent, but he’s a frugal man. He could easily afford an expense like that out of his own pocket, at least for a while. You know Nelson. Even if he could bring himself to steal, he’d never steal ten times more than he needed! He’s too methodical and practical.”

Malloy didn’t argue. She could almost see him considering her theory and coming to the same conclusion she had. “Maybe there isn’t any money missing at all,” he said after a moment.

“What?”

“Maybe this banker just told you that so he’d have an excuse to get rid of Nelson without losing your good opinion.”

Sarah gaped at him. “I’m sure my good opinion doesn’t mean that much to him.”

“Are you?” Malloy asked. “Is this Dennis a married man?”

“He’s… a widower,” she admitted reluctantly, not liking where this conversation was going.

“How old is he?”

“About your age,” she allowed.

Malloy nodded as if she’d proven his point.

“What difference could that possibly make?” she asked impatiently.

“Believe me, it makes a lot of difference.”

“In what way?”

“In every way.” A flush had crawled up his neck. “When a man wants a beautiful woman, he’ll do just about anything to keep her good opinion.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped in surprise, but before she could even frame a response, he said, “The coffee’s boiling over.”

Instinctively, she jumped up to rescue it. By the time she’d gotten the pot off the heat, burned her finger, found some butter to put on it, and poured them both some coffee, the shock of his remark had passed.

When she turned back to face him, his expression was once again bland, and the flush had faded from his face.

Before she could say a word, he said, “Did you go see Prescott at the hospital?”

“Yes,” she said, grateful for the change of subject. She set the coffee cups on the table and took her seat again. “He’s not doing very well.”

“Is there any chance he’ll survive?”

“He might. He’s got an aunt. I’m going to… Oh, dear, I was going to write her a letter this evening to ask her to visit him and bring him some nourishing food. Then Mr. Dennis came and… I guess I’ll have to take him some food myself tomorrow. I was going to go see him anyway. I’d really like to move him here, where I could take care of him, but he’d never be able to stand the trip.”

“That’s what I figured. If it’s any consolation, I think I know who stabbed him.”

“You know who the killer is?” Sarah exclaimed.

“It had to be Giddings’s son.”

“Giddings’s son? Why would he try to kill Prescott?”

“Because he killed Anna Blake.”

“How do you know that?”

“Remember the landlady said a young man came to see Anna right before she was killed? The first time I visited Mrs. Giddings, her son came in and told her she didn’t have to worry about ‘that woman’ anymore. That made me think maybe he knew more about Anna’s death than he let on. I didn’t know then that he’d visited her the night she died, though. Then Prescott starts snooping around. Sooner or later he was going to find out about Giddings and put his name in the paper, too. The boy wants to protect his mother from any more scandal, so he sends Prescott a note, asking him to meet him. He shows up dressed like a woman and lures him into the alley off of Washington Square and stabs him.”

Sarah frowned. “I know we once encountered a woman who dressed up like a man to walk the streets safely at night, but for a man to dress up like a woman… isn’t that a little far-fetched?”

“What better way to lure Prescott away so he could kill him?” he pointed out reasonably.

Something about the theory bothered Sarah, but she couldn’t say quite what. It did make sense, far-fetched as it was. “Why haven’t you arrested him yet?”

“I was busy all day on a warehouse robbery, and when I went to their house just now, no one answered the door. I know Mrs. Giddings doesn’t want to talk to me again, so she probably just pretended she wasn’t home. I’m going to try again tomorrow, and this time if she doesn’t open the door, I’ll be a little more forceful.”

Sarah winced at the thought of him breaking down the door or something equally violent. “My evening was much more interesting, although not much more fruitful. I talked to Irene.”

“Who’s Irene?”

She stared at him in amazement. “Didn’t Prescott tell you about her? She’s the actress he found, the one who knew Anna Blake.”

“Oh, yeah.” He was unimpressed, so Sarah set out to impress him.

“Did you know that Mr. Walcott was an admirer of Anna’s, when she was on the stage?”

“What do you mean by ‘admirer’?”

“I mean he waited outside the stage door for her and gave her flowers. Then he convinced her to come and live at his house, free of charge, so she could meet rich men like her friend Francine had done.”

“Who’s Francine?”

“Another actress Anna knew. Irene knew her, too. She went to live at the Walcotts’ house a few months earlier. I thought it might have been Catherine Porter by another name, but Francine had red hair and freckles, so it couldn’t be the same person. At any rate, Francine supposedly met some rich man and went off with him.”

“She must’ve been the one Miss Stone told me about.”

“Who’s Miss Stone?”

“The Walcotts’ next-door neighbor. She doesn’t miss much that goes on in the neighborhood-like another old woman I could name. She said she didn’t think this girl’s hair was naturally red, though.” Sarah smiled in spite of herself. Miss Stone did indeed sound like her own neighbor. “This Francine must’ve been the woman Prescott was trying to find,” Malloy mused. “He said he went back to the Walcott house to find out where she went when she left, but Catherine Porter either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell him. He’ll be glad to know she did so well for herself.”

“Irene also knows Catherine Porter, and she doesn’t have much good to say about her. It seems that when Catherine couldn’t find work in the theater, she sold the one thing of value that she had on the streets.”

Malloy raised his eyebrows. “Which would make her very good at doing the same thing Anna Blake was doing, seducing men and blackmailing them.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, too. And the Walcotts must have known. They may even have encouraged it. But that doesn’t make any sense. The Walcotts claimed they take in boarders because they need the money, but according to Irene, Anna didn’t even pay any rent.”

“She didn’t have to. Nelson and Giddings paid it for her,” Malloy reminded her.

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten! That’s why she could live there for free, because someone else paid her way.”

“And if she was an actress, that explains why she was so good at tricking men into doing what she wanted,” Malloy pointed out.

“I remember when I met Anna, I had the feeling something wasn’t right. Nelson was trying to reassure her, but she kept insisting on misinterpreting everything he said. It was like she was trying to make the situation worse than it really was.”

“More melodramatic?” Malloy offered.

“Yes, that’s it exactly!” Sarah exclaimed. “She was acting in her own private play.”

“I guess the last act didn’t end the way she’d planned, though.”

Sarah remembered Anna the way she’d looked that evening Nelson had introduced them. The woman had pretended to be fragile and helpless, but even then Sarah had sensed a confidence and strength behind the facade. Anna Blake was a woman who knew what she wanted and was willing to do whatever she had to in order to get it. Only one thing still bothered her.

“I just don’t understand why she went out that night. No woman who valued her safety would go into the Square alone at that hour of the night.”

“Harold Giddings must have arranged to meet her later,” Malloy suggested. “Maybe he threatened her in some way or maybe she thought she could charm him into something if she got him alone. I’ll find out everything when I question him.”

Sarah frowned. “You’re going to give him the third degree, aren’t you?”

Malloy’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I do what I have to do, Mrs. Brandt, but only what I have to do.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant. Beating people doesn’t give me any pleasure.”

“I didn’t think it did,” Sarah tried, sorry she had offended him. She was never sure exactly what would do it, either, which made it difficult for her to avoid.

“Besides,” he said with what might have been a small grin, “it’s hard work. Fortunately, Harold Giddings doesn’t look like he’ll need much convincing to tell everything he knows.”

“For his sake, I hope he doesn’t.”

Malloy drained his cup and set it back on the table decisively. “Now we’ve got to go next door and tell Nelson about the missing money.”

A sick feeling of dread settled into her stomach. “Can’t it wait until morning?” she tried.

“I want to go to the bank first thing in the morning and catch this Mr. Dennis before he has a chance to change his mind about pressing charges against Nelson.”

“What are you going to say to him?”

Malloy gave her a disapproving look. “Stop trying to change the subject, Mrs. Brandt. Get your jacket. We’re going next door.”

SARAH WENT TO HER PARENTS’ HOUSE EARLY, HOPING TO catch her father before he left for the day. She didn’t question why she needed to see him so badly. She only knew she did. She’d spent a restless night after the unpleasant scene at the Ellsworths. Lying awake, she’d remembered every word they’d said, how Mrs. Ellsworth had wept, and how devastated Nelson had looked when he realized that even if he was cleared of murder, he would most certainly lose his position. Most likely, he’d also never get another, no matter how discreet Richard Dennis was.

Only in the wee hours of the morning, when she was exhausted and half-sick with worry, did she remember what was probably the most remarkable part of a very remarkable day. How could she have forgotten? As distracted as she was by everything else, surely having Frank Malloy call her beautiful was the most memorable event she could recall in her recent history.

How extraordinary that he should say such a thing! Especially so because Sarah wasn’t beautiful at all. She’d long ago come to terms with that. In her youth she’d been pretty enough, she supposed, because health and youth and good nature combined to make one attractive. But then her sister had died so horribly, and Sarah had grown solemn. Determined not to waste her life, she’d put aside vanities that had no place in her new world.

Tom, of course, had thought her beautiful, but he had been blinded by love. What could have possessed Malloy, however, was a mystery. A delightful mystery, though. When Sarah remembered Malloy’s outrage over Richard Dennis’s behavior, she felt the strangest heat building inside of her. She needed a moment to recognize it for what it was-pure pleasure! And to her dismay, she realized she was actually blushing just at the memory of it!

She glanced around the crowded railroad car to see if anyone had noticed the color rising in her face, but fortunately, no one was paying her the slightest attention. Quickly, she put her gloved hands on her cheeks to cool them and glanced out the window at the houses passing so quickly and so closely by. To distract herself from disturbing thoughts, she watched for a glimpse of the occupants of the third-floor apartments passing by at eye level and tried to imagine a history for each of them.

By the time she reached her parents’ town house on the Upper West Side, she had almost succeeded in forgetting Malloy’s strange behavior.

As she had expected, her mother hadn’t roused herself yet, but her father was still at breakfast, reading the morning newspapers in solitary splendor in the dining room.

“Sarah,” he said, rising to his feet when the maid announced her. He seemed pleased to see her, although his natural reserve made it hard to tell. “What brings you out so early?”

“I was hoping to have a word with you,” she said, taking a seat in the chair he pulled out for her at the table.

“You’ll join me for breakfast, I hope.”

“I’ve already eaten, thank you.”

He instructed the maid to bring her some tea anyway and resumed his own seat. “This sounds serious,” he said with a frown. “I don’t believe you’ve ever made a special effort to have a word with me about anything.”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she assured him. “I just have some questions to ask you about… about embezzlement.”

“Embezzlement?” he echoed in surprise. “Why? Are you thinking of trying your hand at it?”

Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the thought, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “Of course not, Father. It’s just that… well, my friend Mr. Ellsworth has now been accused of it, in addition to everything else.”

He absorbed this information. “The accusation, did it come from Richard Dennis?”

“I’m afraid so. He called in auditors to check the books on Monday morning, just to be certain everything was in order since… You see, the murdered woman was trying to blackmail Mr. Ellsworth.”

“I see. Then that would be a sensible precaution for the bank to take. And the auditors did find some discrepancies, I presume.”

“According to Mr. Dennis, they found ten thousand dollars missing.”

Her father frowned. “That’s a lot of blackmail.”

“Exactly my reaction. The woman had only asked for one thousand. I can’t believe Nelson would have been so foolish. He’s honest to a fault, Father. He’d never take money that didn’t belong to him, but even if he did, he certainly would have more sense than to take so much, particularly when he didn’t need it. He would know that someone would eventually discover the theft, and he’d be caught.”

“But if he was desperate…”

“He wasn’t desperate. Father, the woman claimed to be carrying his child, and he was willing and able to marry her. Why would he steal money from his employer to pay blackmail when he wanted to marry the woman?”

“You’re right, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“But Nelson Ellsworth isn’t in a position to prove his innocence of anything at the moment. Mr. Dennis isn’t planning to press charges against him, but he’ll still dismiss him from the bank because of the missing money. Nelson will be ruined, and he’ll never be able to find a decent job again.”

Her father took a sip of his coffee and studied her. “I suppose there’s something you want me to do about all this.”

Sarah sighed. “I’m not even sure there’s anything you can do. I guess I was just hoping you might have some advice to offer.”

Her father stared at her for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet in a way she’d never heard it before. “I’m gratified that you have come to me, Sarah. A father wants his children to have confidence in his abilities to handle difficult situations.”

She hadn’t realized it, but that’s exactly what she’d done. Once her father had seemed the most powerful person on earth to her. She’d lost respect for that power when she’d seen him misuse it with her sister, but still, deep down where her childhood memories were buried, she believed he could do anything. “I do have confidence in you, Father,” she admitted. “But it isn’t fair of me to ask you to help with this.”

“Quite truthfully, I’m not certain I can. Young Dennis isn’t likely to take advice from me about how to run his business. He’d see it as interference, and he’d be right. Going to his father about this would be even worse. I’m not sure I could even make discreet inquiries without offending them.”

“I guess I knew that,” she said. “I just didn’t want to believe it. Please forgive me for putting you in an awkward position.”

“Nonsense,” he said, brushing away her apology. “I’ll give the matter some thought and see what I can do. I can’t make any promises, mind you, but-”

“Oh, Father, I’m not asking for any promises. But I don’t even know anything about embezzlement. If I did, perhaps I could… I don’t know, do something,” she said in exasperation.

“I’m glad to say I know very little about it myself, but I can at least obtain that information with relative ease. I’ll take lunch at my club today. Someone there will be only too happy to enlighten me on the subject, I’m sure.”

“Thank you, Father. I’d be so grateful.”

He peered at her over his coffee cup. “No reason to be grateful, my dear. Now go upstairs and see your mother. I’ll send you word when I’ve learned something useful.”

SARAH GAPED AT HER. THIS WAS EVEN MORE INFORMATION than she’d wanted to get. “Are you sure that’s what he said?” she asked, still not wanting the Giddings boy to be guilty of the crime.

“Yeah, because Anna started laughing, and he said something like she’d better believe him or she’d be sorry.”

Sarah hadn’t been trained as a detective, but that sounded like pretty good evidence to her. “And then he left?”

“Yeah, Mr. Walcott told him to leave, and he did.”

“Did you say Mr. Walcott? I thought he wasn’t home that night.”

Catherine looked confused and then frightened again. “Did I say that? No, I meant to say Mrs. You’re right, he wasn’t home that night. Mrs. Walcott asked him to leave.”

“And what time was this when he left?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine complained. “Early in the evening, I guess. Right after supper.”

“And you went to bed immediately?”

“No, I told you, it was still early.”

“So Anna didn’t leave the house right after that?”

“No, we played checkers for a while, the two of us.”

Sarah managed to conceal her surprise. This wasn’t what Mrs. Walcott had said. “Did she seem upset by the argument she’d had with the boy?”

“Not a bit. Nothing much upset her, even though…”

“Even though what?” Sarah prodded.

“Well, Mrs. Walcott… She was mad about the boy coming to the house. She didn’t like disturbances. Yelling and carrying on, she says that’s low class.”

“Did she say anything to Anna about it?”

“Not that I heard. She isn’t one to air dirty linen, you know? That’s how she always says it. No use airing our dirty linen in public. She’d wait ’til I was gone to say something, if she did.”

“And you think she did that night?”

Catherine shrugged. “Like I said, I was asleep. I didn’t hear anything.” She wouldn’t meet Sarah’s eye.

Sarah was starting to get a little impatient with Catherine, but she tried not to let it show. “Did Anna get a message that evening?”

“Not that I know of.”

Sarah was confused now. “So Anna was still here when you went to bed?”

“That’s right. Anna never would go to bed until real late. Then she’d sleep late in the morning, just like when we worked in the theater. I told her it’s hard on the complexion to stay up half the night, but she wouldn’t listen. Anna wouldn’t listen to nobody.”

“Was Anna in the habit of going out alone at night?”

Catherine looked at her like she was crazy. “Only whores go out on the street at night. Anna didn’t want to be taken for no whore.”

“Then why did she go out that particular night?”

“I don’t know, I tell you! I wish I did. Then people would stop bothering me. All I can tell you is that she did, and she got herself killed.”

“And what’s going to happen to you now?” Sarah asked.

Fear flickered in Catherine’s eyes again. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you going to keep entertaining your gentlemen friends the way Anna did?”

“That ain’t none of your business,” she said. At last she jumped up from her seat on the sofa. “I’ve told you everything I know. Now you’d better leave here before Mrs. Walcott gets back.”

“Why? Don’t you think she’d like to see me?”

“She don’t like talking about Anna, especially since that reporter came here snooping around the other day.”

Sarah felt a warning prickle on the back of her neck. “Was it Mr. Prescott? From the World?”

“I didn’t hear his name.”

“A tall fellow? Young? All arms and legs?”

“I guess,” she said with a shrug. “He was asking about Anna being in the theater and all. Mrs. Walcott sent him packing, and she told me and Mary not to let any more reporters in. There’ve been a lot of them come by, wanting to know all about Anna, but we never tell them nothing.”

“If a lot of reporters have been here, why did that particular one annoy Mrs. Walcott?”

“This one barged right in past poor Mary, without so much as a by-your-leave. Mrs. Walcott threatened to call the police on him,” Catherine said. “In fact, now that I think on it, I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. How do I know you’re not working for some newspaper? This could be a trick.”

“I assure you, I don’t work for a newspaper. I’m a midwife. That’s why Nelson Ellsworth brought me to meet Anna Blake in the first place,” Sarah reminded her.

Catherine waved this away. “I don’t know about any of that. All I know is, you better go now.”

Sarah rose to her feet, but she wasn’t quite finished. “Do you remember what Anna was wearing that night?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d like to find out how she was dressed when she went out the night she died. That could tell me who she was going to meet.”

“How could what she was wearing tell you anything?” Catherine asked.

“If she was dressed carefully, she was probably going to meet a lover,” Sarah said. “If she dressed hastily, she might have been in a hurry. Can you remember?”

“I only know what she was wearing last time I saw her.”

“Could you tell from looking at the clothes in her room what she wore to go out that night?”

Catherine cast one anxious glance at the door again. Could she actually be frightened at the prospect of having Mrs. Walcott catch her talking to Sarah? What kind of a relationship did she have with the landlady? Before she could pursue that thought, Catherine said, “I can look at her things. They’re all there in her room. Mrs. Walcott won’t let anybody touch them. It’s not like Anna’s going to need them or anything, is it?” she grumbled, opening the parlor doors and leading Sarah up the stairs.

Sarah followed her into Anna’s room. The shades had been drawn, and everything was just as she’d seen it last. The place was starting to have that closed-up, dusty smell to it.

“I could wear her things,” Catherine was saying. “We were the same size. I don’t know why she won’t let me have them.”

“Maybe she will when this is all settled,” Sarah suggested.

Catherine took a quick inventory. “That’s funny.”

“What?”

“Looks like she didn’t change her clothes before she went out. She was wearing her house dress that night. After the boy left, she changed into it. She didn’t like to sit around in her good clothes if nobody was coming to call. Clothes cost the earth, you know.”

Sarah knew it well. “What color was it?”

“Brown,” she said, confirming what Mrs. Walcott had said, although the landlady hadn’t mentioned what kind of a dress it had been. Women usually had a dress, usually one past its prime, they kept for doing housework and such. Although Anna wouldn’t have done much work, she would have had a shabby dress she wore to be comfortable.

“So she was wearing a house dress. What coat would she have been wearing?”

Catherine looked at everything again. “She only had this cape, and it’s still here. Her winter coat is in the trunk. It hasn’t been cold enough to get it out. Or at least it wasn’t before she died. It’s a nice coat, too. Hardly worn at all,” she added enviously.

“Did she have a shawl or something?”

Catherine looked at each garment again. “The one she wore around the house. She had it on that night when we was playing checkers. Mrs. Walcott wouldn’t light a fire. She said it wasn’t cold enough yet, but Anna was always cold.”

They could hear the front door opening, and a voice calling for Mary. Catherine’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, miss, could you… I don’t want Mrs. Walcott to know I was talking to you. Could you leave by the back stairs so she don’t see you?”

Sarah considered refusing. She wouldn’t mind seeing Mrs. Walcott again, but not if her presence would make the woman angry. She might need to come back again, and there was no use in antagonizing the landlady unnecessarily. “I’d be glad to,” Sarah assured her.

Placing her finger to her lips to signal Sarah to be silent, Catherine led her quickly down the hallway to the back staircase. Sarah stole down the steps and out through the empty kitchen to the back porch.

She wasn’t too surprised to find a couple of stray dogs in the back yard, a large brown one and a small black one. Such animals roamed the entire city, scavenging garbage and the carcasses of dead animals when they were lucky enough to find them. These were like most, mangy and scrawny and sniffing around for whatever they could find. They were sniffing at the Walcotts’ cellar door, scratching fruitlessly in an effort to get inside. Sarah remembered the maid complaining about how something had died down there. The scent must have attracted these poor creatures.

“Shoo!” she tried, shaking her skirts at them, but they barely spared her a glance before returning to their quest. Leaving them to it, Sarah made her way out of the tiny yard and into the alley, where she made her escape undetected.

“MOTHER!” THE BOY CRIED IN HORROR.

If Frank had entertained any lingering doubts about the boy’s innocence, they died in that moment. Obviously, Harold would have done anything to protect his mother from more unpleasantness. In a while, he’d probably realize he could confess to the crime to save her, and then he might even try it, but his first instinct had been to believe her. This meant he had no reason to doubt her word.

“Harold,” Frank said kindly, “Leave me alone with your mother.”

“No!” the boy said, putting his arm around her defiantly. “I won’t let you bully her!”

“I don’t need to bully her,” he pointed out. “She’s already confessed. I just need to ask her a few more questions, and I don’t think she wants you to hear the answers.”

“It’s all right, Harold,” his mother said softly, stroking his cheek. “I’m not afraid.”

Harold was, though. Frank could see it in his eyes. She was all he had left in the world, and Frank was going to take her away from him. He took her hand in both of his, his grip desperate. “Don’t tell him anything!” he urged her. “Don’t say another word!”

“I can’t live with this any longer,” she said, speaking gently to him, as if he were a small child. “I have to clear my conscience. Please, Harold, leave us alone. He’s right, I don’t want you to hear what I did.”

The boy’s face crumpled in despair. “Mother, how could you?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she told him.

Instantly, his despair twisted into anger. “You did it for him, didn’t you? Because you wanted him to come back to us!”

“No, my darling,” she said lovingly, stroking his hair. “I did it for you.”

SARAH STUCK A LOG INTO THE STOVE AND SLAMMED THE door shut more loudly than necessary. Malloy was glaring at her, but she didn’t care. She was right, and she knew it.

“All right,” he said, pretending to be reasonable, “if Mrs. Giddings didn’t do it, then who did?”

“The same person who tried to kill Mr. Prescott.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do! The person who stabbed him promised him information about Anna Blake’s killer. And why would anyone else want to kill him?”

“A hundred reasons! He’s a newspaper reporter!” Malloy was shouting now.

“Keep your voice down,” she cautioned. “You don’t want Mrs. Ellsworth to hear you. She’d be over here in a second to find out what’s wrong.”

He looked like he might explode, but he drew a deep breath, let it out on a long sigh, and forced himself to sit down at the kitchen table.

Sarah started making coffee while Malloy got his temper under control.

As she set the pot on the warming stove, he said, “Just because the person-and I’m glad you’re willing to admit it might not have been a female-who stabbed Prescott lured him with a promise of information about Anna Blake, that doesn’t mean he-or she-had any or even knew anything about the murder at all. It just means that person knew this was a sure way to get Prescott to a private meeting.”

Sarah didn’t like this. He was starting to make sense. “Maybe you’re right, but maybe I’m right, too. What if the person who killed Anna was afraid Prescott was getting too close to the truth?”

“How would he-or she-know that?”

“Because of Prescott’s stories in the paper,” she reminded him impatiently. “He was the one who discovered that Anna was an actress and-”

“You were the one who discovered that. Prescott just happened to be the only reporter we told.”

“Fair enough, but still, he was the first one to write about it. If someone was afraid of what he was finding out, they could have decided the safest thing to do was kill him.”

“Wait a minute,” Malloy said, holding up his hand. “How would they know it was Prescott writing the stories?”

Sarah had been rummaging around in her cupboard, looking for something to eat, but this brought her head up sharply. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came for a moment while she thought this through. “You’re right!” she said finally. “We knew Prescott was writing the stories, but no one else would.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Malloy said. “It’s not like they put the reporter’s name on his stories or anything. So it had to be someone who knew Prescott was the one writing them, or who at least had heard of him.”

“The Walcotts knew Prescott,” she remembered. “He’d been to the house that day we told him Anna was an actress. Then he went back later, right before he was attacked, after he’d talked to her friends at the theater. He was asking a lot of questions, and Mrs. Walcott got very upset.”

“Did Prescott tell you this?”

“No, Catherine Porter did.”

He frowned, surprised and not happy about it. “When did you talk to Catherine Porter?”

“Yesterday. She told me a lot of things, and that’s why I was looking for you. I thought you needed to know them, too.”

“You went to the boarding house?”

“Yes. I just couldn’t make sense of what had happened that night, and I thought Catherine might be able to answer a few of my questions.”

Malloy rubbed a hand over his face wearily, although what he had to be weary about, she had no idea. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me everything Catherine Porter told you?” he suggested tightly.

“I want to get something to eat first,” she said. “You promised Mrs. Ellsworth you’d take care of me, but I can see you have no intention of it.” Turning her full attention to the cupboard for a few seconds, she finally found a tin of peaches and started prying it open with the can opener.

Malloy sighed again, this time in martyrdom, and rose to his feet. “Sit down,” he commanded her.

“But-”

“Sit down! Or I’ll get Mrs. Ellsworth over here to make you.”

That was an effective threat. Sarah sat, mystified as to what might happen next. To her surprise, Malloy finished opening the can of peaches, poured them out into a bowl, and set it in front of her.

Sarah looked up at him, still not quite certain what to make of this. “I’ll need something… a fork,” she ventured.

To her amazement, he located one without fumbling and put it on the table beside her. “Eat,” was all he said.

So she did. And while she did, he found some eggs in her icebox, which was still fairly cool even though she hadn’t replenished the ice in several days. Then he located a piece of cheese that was too hard to eat and a dried-up onion. In a few minutes, he’d chopped the onion and put it in a pan to sizzle in some bacon grease he’d spooned from the container by the stove. Then he broke up the cheese and threw it into the pan with the eggs, and before Sarah could quite comprehend what was happening, Malloy set the finished concoction down in front of her.

While he was pouring them each a cup of coffee, she looked up at him in awe and asked, “When did you learn to cook?”

“This isn’t cooking,” he said. “This is basic survival. How do you think men keep from starving when they don’t have a woman to do for them? Now eat.”

Sarah had forgotten to finish eating the peaches while she’d watched him, and the aroma of the frying onions had set her mouth to watering. She tucked into the omelet with shameless enthusiasm, not pausing until every bite of it was gone.

“That was delicious,” she said, a little chagrined at her gluttony.

“You were hungry,” he demurred.

She looked at the bowl of peaches. “Do you want some of these? I don’t think I can eat them all after that.”

“Try. Then tell me what you found out from Catherine Porter.”

Sarah had been so sure she’d be able to recall every detail, but now it seemed days had passed since she’d been at the Walcotts’ house. Fatigue made her memory even more sluggish. Maybe she should just try to put things in order. “The night Anna died, the Giddings boy came to see her.”

“We knew that.”

“They had an argument. He threatened to kill her if she didn’t give back the money Giddings had paid her.”

“I know, I know,” he said impatiently. “Then he left, and she got a message and went out and-”

“No, she didn’t!”

“What?”

“She didn’t get a message, not that Catherine knew of, and they were together all evening. Also, Anna didn’t go out, not right away, at least. The two of them played checkers or something until Catherine went to bed much later.”

“But the landlady said she went out right after Harold Giddings left,” Malloy protested.

“Then one of them is wrong. I think Catherine was telling the truth, though. Remember she said she was asleep when Anna left the house. She said that long before we knew anything different. She also thought Mrs. Walcott was angry about the boy coming to the house. She doesn’t like unpleasantness, Catherine said. Maybe Mrs. Walcott and Anna argued about it after Catherine went bed. Maybe Anna left the house in a huff and got herself killed and now Mrs. Walcott feels guilty, so she made up the story about her getting a message.”

“It would’ve had to be a pretty nasty fight for her to go out alone after dark,” Malloy observed. “Would Mrs. Walcott have been that upset about the Giddings boy’s visit?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should ask her,” Sarah suggested, earning a frown from Malloy. “Or maybe they argued about something else,” she tried. “Remember what that actress Irene said about Mr. Walcott courting the girls to get them to move into his house? Maybe his wife was jealous of Anna.”

“I guess you want me to ask Mrs. Walcott about that, too,” Malloy asked sarcastically.

“Oh, and I almost forgot. Anna was only wearing her housedress when she left that night. No woman would go out in her housedress under ordinary circumstances. She didn’t wear a jacket or a cape, either, and it was cold enough that she would’ve needed one.”

“She had a shawl,” Malloy said. “I told you the coroner said she’d tried holding it against her wound to keep it from bleeding too much.”

“Catherine said she had a shawl on when they were playing their game,” she remembered, “because it was chilly in the house. Mrs. Walcott wouldn’t light a fire. That means she didn’t change anything she was wearing before she went out. Probably, she didn’t even go up to her room. She just ran out without any preparation at all. A woman as vain about her appearance as Anna Blake wouldn’t do that unless she was very upset. Or desperate. Whatever she was feeling, she certainly wouldn’t go out like that if she were meeting someone.”

Malloy sipped his coffee, considering all she’d told him. “You’ve been wondering why she was out alone so late. All right, maybe she had an argument with Mrs. Walcott, but that still doesn’t explain why she’d leave the house so suddenly.”

“Maybe Mrs. Walcott threw her out,” Sarah suggested.

“Even so, wouldn’t she have at least packed her things and gotten properly dressed?”

He was right, of course.

“She might have just been going to stay with a friend for the night,” Sarah said, still thinking out loud, “until she and the landlady had time for their tempers to cool. Or maybe she was planning to return for her things later, when Mrs. Walcott wasn’t home.”

“Then that means a stranger killed her while she was walking the streets by herself. Actually, that’s more likely, considering what the coroner said.”

“Malloy, I’m getting very annoyed with you,” Sarah said, frowning because today was the first time he’d bothered to mention that the coroner had told him a lot more about Anna’s death than he’d bothered to share with her. “What else did the coroner say?”

Malloy obviously felt no guilt over his omissions. “He said she walked for a distance that night after she was stabbed.”

“A distance?” she echoed incredulously. “How far?”

“Maybe a few blocks,” he said with a shrug. “She must’ve been trying to get back home after she was attacked.”

“If only she’d made it,” Sarah sighed. “Maybe she could have at least told someone who stabbed her.”

“If she even knew,” he pointed out. “If a stranger killed her, then that still means Prescott’s attack didn’t have anything to do with Anna’s murder, and my chances of catching the real killer aren’t very good. And don’t forget, I still have Mrs. Giddings locked up. No matter what you think, she claims she killed Anna.”

“She couldn’t have,” Sarah pointed out. “Even if she’d followed her son to Anna’s house, she wouldn’t have stood around on the street waiting for hours in case Anna came out so she could follow and murder her. Why would she expect Anna to come out at all? And she especially wouldn’t have stayed there on the street until after dark, for the same reasons it’s so strange that Anna went out herself. That’s just impossible to believe.”

Malloy didn’t look happy, and Sarah couldn’t blame him. He’d thought he’d solved the case, and now she was proving he hadn’t. “Impossible or not, Mrs. Giddings still confessed. And you also haven’t convinced me that the same person who killed Anna also stabbed Prescott.”

“That’s probably because I’m not sure myself anymore. If Anna was killed by a stranger who was trying to rob her or attack her, then there’s no reason for there to have been a connection.”

“Even if Mrs. Giddings killed Anna, she didn’t have any reason to kill Prescott either. In fact, who among the people who knew Anna did? Were her friends at the theater angry about him snooping around?”

“Not at all,” Sarah said. “Theater people probably love publicity. Catherine said Mrs. Walcott was angry, though.”

“Rightly so. She didn’t want bad publicity for herself or her boarding house. But murder is a pretty drastic solution to that problem. You might as well say the Ellsworths stabbed him because he was writing all those stories about Nelson.”

Sarah rubbed her temple where a headache was forming. “I’m afraid I’m too tired to figure any of this out right now.”

“Then get some sleep. I’ve got to go back to work myself before somebody notices I’m spending all my time on someone else’s case.”

He got up and carried her dishes to the sink.

“For heaven’s sake, don’t wash them,” she cried in mock horror. “I don’t think my heart could take the shock!”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her with one of his rare grins. “I had no intention of it.” The grin transformed him, banishing the pain and the years that had hardened him and giving her a glimpse of the boy he once had been. For an instant, she even saw a trace of Brian in him.

Something inside of her warmed and began to melt, a part of her that had been frozen for a very long time. She rose, responding to an instinctive need to be closer to him. Closer to his warmth.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” she said and impulsively gave him her hand.

His fingers closed over hers, strong and sure, and his grin faded. For along moment, their gazes locked and held, and Sarah saw something in his dark eyes she’d never seen before. A longing. A need. An emptiness she instantly understood because it matched her own. An emptiness he could fill if only…

Suddenly, the place where his hand touched hers began to burn, as if his flesh were searing her, and she snatched her hand back in alarm. And when she looked into his eyes again, she saw only the Malloy she knew, the one who allowed nothing and no one past his barriers. Had she only imagined that moment?

She covered her embarrassment with a forced laugh. “I’ll be sure to tell Mrs. Ellsworth you were as good as your word about feeding me.”

“She probably won’t believe you,” he said gruffly, turning toward the back door. He was leaving, and Sarah didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“What are you going to do about Mrs. Giddings?” she asked for something to say.

He gave her one of his looks over his shoulder as he reached for his hat. “You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, glad they were back to their normal bantering again. Perhaps she really had only imagined that awkward moment. She was awfully tired. “And you won’t scare me off by shouting and clapping your hands, either.”

“In that case, I’ll just tell you the truth. I’m not going to do anything with Mrs. Giddings.”

“You can’t mean that!”

“She confessed to a murder,” he reminded her, “and now that she’s locked up, they aren’t going to let her go even if I tell them I don’t think she did it after all, which I’m not going to do, because I still think she probably did. Now get some rest. When you wake up, you’ll probably realize I’m right, and you’ll have to apologize for disagreeing with me.”

“Ha!” she replied, making him grin again, but this one was merely cocksure and not the least bit vulnerable or boyish.

“Good day, Mrs. Brandt,” he said and then he was gone, setting his hat on his head as he strode quickly out of her backyard.

She closed the door behind him and locked it, suddenly feeling the extent of her exhaustion. No wonder she was having romantic notions about Malloy. She was probably delirious with fatigue.

A few minutes later, she had stripped off most of her clothes, washed, and collapsed onto her bed. The next thing she knew, she was face to face with a vicious dog that was growling and barking, and no matter how loudly she shouted or how many times she clapped her hands, he wouldn’t run away. He just kept pawing at the cellar door, trying to get inside. Sarah knew he shouldn’t get in, but she didn’t know how to stop him. She needed a bone. If she just had a bone to throw to him, he’d go away. But she couldn’t find one, not anywhere. And then it didn’t matter because the cellar door was opening. Someone was pushing it up from the inside, and the dog was howling and barking and prancing all around, but Sarah was afraid. She didn’t want whoever was down there to come out. She wanted to push the door shut again, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t move one muscle. All she could do was watch helplessly as the door fell open and Anna Blake stepped out.

She was dead, of course. Sarah could see the blood-stains on her dress, and her face was white, her eyes blank and staring. She was dead and coming out of the cellar, and the dog was going to get her. Sarah opened her mouth to cry out a warning, and the sound of her own voice woke her with a start.

She looked around, surprised to find herself in her own bed, in her own bedroom, gasping for breath and drenched in cold sweat, but completely alone. No dog. No dead Anna Blake. From the angle of the sunlight creeping in around the window shades, she guessed it was afternoon. Except for the aftereffects of her nightmare, she did feel much better. So much better, in fact, that she was positive the murder of Anna Blake had not yet been solved, no matter what Malloy thought.

The only problem was that she had to convince Malloy of it, too, because if she didn’t, an innocent woman was going to be electrocuted and a killer would go free.

SARAH FOUND THE GIDDINGS HOUSE EASILY ENOUGH from the directions Mrs. Giddings had given her. When she saw the neighborhood and how the family had once lived, she realized just how much damage Anna Blake had done to them. Mrs. Giddings had told her they’d sold nearly everything they owned to repay her husband’s law partners. Her husband’s career was ruined, he could no longer work in his profession, and her son had found what work he could just to keep food on the table. In the same situation, Sarah thought she might well have considered murdering Anna Blake herself.

No one answered her knock at the Giddings house for so long that Sarah was afraid she wasn’t going to have her opportunity to question Harold Giddings. But the door opened at last, and the boy himself stood there. She knew it must be he from his bloodshot eyes and his tormented expression.

“Who are you?” he asked, unknowingly echoing his mother’s suspicion.

“I’m Sarah Brandt,” she said, smiling reassuringly. “Your mother asked me to check on you and make sure you were all right.”

“My mother?” he cried almost desperately. “How is she? She told me not to visit her, but I can’t stand not knowing what’s happening to her!”

Sarah had been worried he wouldn’t believe her, but he must be even more trusting than she’d hoped. “If you’ll invite me in, I’ll be glad to tell you everything I know,” Sarah said gently.

Instantly flustered, the boy stepped back to admit her. “I’m sorry I was rude,” he said. “I didn’t know who you were.”

“That’s all right.” Sarah said, stepping into the foyer. She looked around. Every room she could see stood empty of furniture. “Is there someplace we could sit down?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” the boy said, eager to please now. “We’ve still got… I mean, the back parlor. Just… follow me.”

He led her down the hallway and into a room that still held some of its original furnishings. Sarah could imagine the family gathered here in the evening during happier times, before Gilbert Giddings had betrayed them and destroyed their lives.

“Is your father here?” she asked.

“No,” the boy said, his anger at his father painfully obvious. “He hasn’t been here in a couple days. I hope he never comes back. I hope he’s dead in some gutter.”

Sarah didn’t chasten the boy. He had a right to his feelings, and she could certainly sympathize with them. “Your mother is concerned that you’re remembering to eat and get enough sleep,” she began.

“I’m not very hungry,” he said. “All I can think about is…”

“I know, but your mother is doing fine. The jail isn’t so very bad, and the women aren’t locked up all day. They can socialize and sew if they wish.”

“I don’t want her to socialize with criminals,” the boy objected.

Sarah didn’t point out that his mother was herself a confessed murderer. “And I would like to see her released, since she really didn’t kill Anna Blake.”

“She didn’t?” the boy asked incredulously. “She swore she did it! I couldn’t believe it, but she kept saying it, over and over. That policeman believed her, too. I begged him not to take her away, but she told me not to argue with him, that he didn’t have any choice.”

“She lied because she thought the detective was going to arrest you for the crime,” Sarah explained.

“Me? Why would he arrest me?” he asked in genuine bewilderment.

Now Sarah could understand how Malloy had known he was innocent. “Some policemen don’t particularly care if they arrest the right person, so long as they arrest someone.”

The boy frowned. “How could they do that? They’d never be able to prove an innocent person did it.”

“They have methods of persuasion,” Sarah said. “They usually manage to obtain confessions, even from innocent people.”

Harold paled. “Is that what they did to my mother?”

“Oh, no. She’d already confessed willingly,” Sarah reminded him. “She’s being well treated, and you don’t have to be afraid for her. But I’m sure you don’t want your mother in jail, especially if she didn’t kill anyone, and neither do I. I’d much rather have the real killer locked up.”

“Who is the real killer?” he asked anxiously.

“I don’t know yet, but I was hoping you’d be able to help me find him.”

“How could I do that?”

“By telling me everything that happened the night you went to see Anna Blake.”

“I already told that policeman everything, and he arrested my mother,” he reminded her.

“I know, but I’m hoping there was some detail that you’d forgotten or didn’t think to mention to him.”

The boy frowned. “How can that help?”

“I won’t know until I hear what happened. Now tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”

His young face screwed up with concentration. “My father didn’t come home that night. My mother pretended it didn’t matter, but she hated the thought that he was with that woman. I’d followed him once, to see where he went. We knew about her after… Well, after he had to pay back the money he stole from his law firm. He had to tell my mother everything then. I just wanted to see her. I wanted to know why he did this to us.”

“Of course you did,” Sarah said to encourage him. “So you knew where she lived.”

“I thought he might be with her that night, so when I got to the house, I made them let me inside. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he was there, but he wasn’t. I didn’t ask about him, of course. I just told them I wanted to see her. The man didn’t want to let me in, but-”

“Man?” Sarah echoed in surprise. “What man?”

Her vehemence startled him. “There was a man there. He was pretty mad, but that woman, Miss Blake, she told him not to worry, she could handle me.”

“Do you know who he was?”

The boy shook his head.

“What did he look like?”

He tried to remember. “A little shorter than me. Dark hair. A beard.”

“Was the beard long or short?”

“Short.”

“Was he fat or thin?”

“Thin. I think he didn’t want to fight me, even though he pretended he was going to if I didn’t leave. He wasn’t very big.”

“How was he dressed?”

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Sarah fought her urge to snap at him impatiently. “Was he wearing a suit? Did he look like he was visiting or did he live there?”

“Oh, he lived there.”

“How do you know?”

“The way he acted. How he treated me, too, I guess. Oh, now I remember. He was in his shirtsleeves. No collar either. He looked like he’d been sitting around reading the paper or something. I think he had slippers on, too.”

This was very interesting. The man must have been Mr. Walcott, but Mrs. Walcott had claimed he wasn’t home that night. Why had she lied? And now Sarah remembered that Catherine Porter had slipped and mentioned that Mr. Walcott had ordered the boy out. She’d corrected herself when Sarah had called her on it, but now Sarah realized it hadn’t been a mistake. Could they both have been trying to give Walcott an alibi?

“Who else did you see when you were there?”

“Just those two. And the maid, of course.”

“Are you sure? No other women?”

He thought for a moment. “I think… maybe there was another woman upstairs. I think she was watching.”

“What did she look like?”

“I didn’t really see her face. I just sort of noticed that someone was there.”

A woman watching from upstairs would have been Catherine Porter, Sarah guessed. “And did you see anyone else?”

“No, that’s all. I’m sure.”

Sarah couldn’t imagine a scene like that happening in the house without Mrs. Walcott coming to investigate. Of course, she might have been out. On the other hand, she’d told Malloy she was there, and that she’d been the one who had ordered the boy out.

“Did I tell you anything that helped?” he asked.

“Maybe,” was all Sarah could say.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to ask Anna Blake’s landlady a few more questions,” she said.

“Can I go with you?” he asked eagerly.

“I know you want to help, but I don’t think the Walcotts would be very happy to see you again.”

“Who are the Walcotts?”

“They own the house where Anna Blake lived.”

“Oh.”

“I’m just going to ask a few questions,” she explained. “Then I’ll take this new information to Mr. Malloy. And then, I hope, he will arrest the real killer, and your mother will be free.”

“What questions are you going to ask?”

Sarah wasn’t sure herself. “I’ll figure that out when I get there.”

SARAH PRETENDED SHE DIDN’T HEAR MALLOY SWEARING when he was out in the backyard, looking in the cellar. She held the cool cloth to her bruised forehead and closed her eyes, wondering if the dizziness was from the blow she had taken or from the opium in the tea.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Brandt?” Harold Giddings asked solicitously.

“Yes, thanks to you,” Sarah said, opening her eyes to smile up at him. She was sitting at the table in the Walcotts’ kitchen. “Have I told you how glad I am you followed me here?”

“At least three times,” Harold said, taking a seat opposite her. He rubbed his eyes as if trying to erase a vision. “I don’t guess I’ll ever get that picture out of my mind. The dog digging down in the cellar and all that hair. That poor woman didn’t hardly have any skin left on her face.”

“The memory will fade in time,” Sarah said, recalling some of the terrible things she’d managed to push to the back of her memory. “Why did you go in the backyard anyway?”

“After I followed you here, I thought somebody might see me if I was on the street, so I went around back. The cellar doors were open and there was a bunch of dogs in there, digging at something. I could smell something dead, so I figured it was an animal. I scared most of them off, but that one wouldn’t pay me any mind at all. I couldn’t see much, but then the kitchen lights came on. Then I could make out a lantern sitting on the cellar steps. I had to wait until the person left the kitchen. Then I lit the lamp and saw what they’d been digging up… Well, that’s when I started yelling for you to get out of there.”

“Thank heaven you did. She was trying to poison me. I guess I would’ve ended up down in the cellar, too.” Sarah shuddered at the horrible thought. Another terrible thing she would have to make herself forget.

“That’s exactly where you would’ve ended up,” Malloy said, coming in from outside. He was angry, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d almost gotten herself killed. “It would’ve been crowded though. Walcott’s already got two people down there, and we found Catherine Porter’s body in her bedroom. She was wrapped up, ready to go down as soon as it got dark. Walcott already had the hole dug.”

Sarah felt the gorge rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, determined not to be sick in front of Malloy. She was already humiliated enough. “Poor Catherine.”

Malloy made a rude noise. “Poor Catherine? She was probably blackmailing some unfortunate man just like Anna Blake was.”

He was right, of course, but she certainly hadn’t deserved to die for it. And nobody deserved to be buried in a cellar. “Wait, did you say two bodies were already buried in the cellar?” she asked.

“Yeah. The one Harold found was the red-haired girl who used to live here.”

“That must be Francine. Walcott told the other girls that Francine had found a rich husband and moved to the country,” Sarah remembered. “Were there other girls before her?”

“One that I know of. The lady next door told me her name was Cummings or something.”

“Is she the other body?”

“No, it’s a man. Probably the old man who owned this house. Walcott told people he’d sold out and moved away, but apparently, they’d killed him and put him in the cellar.”

Sarah groaned.

“Does your head hurt?” Harold asked. “He hit you before I could get to him.”

“Let’s hope he knocked some sense into her,” Malloy said without the slightest trace of sympathy.

Harold glared at him, but he didn’t notice. He was heading down the hall.

“Where are you going?” Sarah demanded.

“To see if Walcott has recovered enough from Harold’s strong right arm to answer a few questions.”

“I’m going, too!” Sarah said, jumping to her feet. She was instantly sorry. She hadn’t drunk very much of the tea, thank heaven, but enough to dull her senses. That, combined with the elbow she’d taken to her temple, was enough to make her wish she’d risen more slowly from her chair.

“Suit yourself,” Malloy said, but he didn’t wait for her.

“I’ll help you,” Harold said, taking her arm. “I want to hear what happened, too!”

Walcott was sitting in the parlor, hands tied in front of him and looking foolish wearing the housedress with his masculine haircut. A uniformed policeman stood guard over him. Someone had tied a bandage around his forehead, where Harold had struck him with the stick he’d been using to frighten the dogs away. He looked a little woozy and very angry.

“It’s late,” Malloy was saying, “and I’m tired, so please don’t make me exert myself, Walcott. Just tell me the whole story, and that cut on the head will be the worst thing that happens to you tonight.”

Walcott was trying to look bored, but when he saw Harold and Sarah come into the room, his expression hardened. “You,” he said. “This is all your fault!”

At first Sarah thought he was addressing her, but then she realized he was glaring at Harold. “Because he came here to the house?” she guessed.

“Anna was a fool!” Walcott said. “She was never satisfied. I told her over and over again not to be too greedy, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“Is that why you killed her, Walcott?” Malloy asked. “Because she was greedy?”

“No,” Walcott said, turning his anger on Malloy. “Because she was stupid.”

“How was she stupid?”

“First she wouldn’t be satisfied with what Giddings could afford to pay her. She made him steal from his company, which drew attention. If they’d pressed charges against him, we would have had the police here in an instant, asking all kinds of questions. And then she picked Nelson Ellsworth. That was the stupidest thing of all.”

“He was a mistake, wasn’t he?” Sarah guessed. “Because he wasn’t married.”

“She was supposed to check!” Walcott shouted. “She just asked some kid on the street who lived in the house. She didn’t bother to find out that the Mrs. Ellsworth who lived there was his mother!”

“So that’s why you were so angry with Anna,” she said, earning a black look from Malloy, which she ignored. “Because she’d chosen a man who couldn’t be blackmailed and because she’d drawn attention with Mr. Giddings.”

“She was causing too much trouble, and she wouldn’t stop,” Walcott said coldly. “I had to get rid of her before she ruined us all.”

“Is that why you killed Francine, too?” Sarah asked. “Because she was causing trouble?”

“No, because she got sentimental.” Walcott gave her a condescending glare. “One of her gentlemen friends killed himself, and she started feeling guilty. She even started talking about doing penance for her sins and maybe even going to the police, so I had to silence her.”

“The way you silenced the old man who owned this house?” Malloy said.

“It wasn’t like that,” Walcott said. “The old man wasn’t supposed to die. I’d thought of this foolproof way to make money, and I needed a house. Ellie knew about this old man who had one.”

“Who’s Ellie?” Malloy asked. “Is she buried in the cellar, too?”

Walcott gave him an irritated glance. “Ellie Cunning-ham, and no, she’s not buried in the cellar or anywhere else. I met Ellie when we were in a play together and-”

“You’re an actor?” Sarah cried, earning another black look from Malloy.

“Yes, an excellent actor,” Walcott said smugly. “I fooled you, didn’t I? I fooled everyone.”

He was right, of course. “I’m sorry I interrupted you,” she said. “Please continue.”

“Ellie and I started this thing together. She charmed the old man into renting us a room. Told him I was her husband. We gave him a little opium to keep him happy so he wouldn’t notice the gentlemen callers Ellie had. We might’ve given him too much, or maybe his time was just up, but one day he just died. We decided no one would miss him, and why should we leave and let the house go to some stranger? So we buried him in the cellar and told people we’d bought the house from him and he’d moved away.”

“What did you do with this Ellie?” Malloy asked.

“Nothing. She got bored and wanted to go back on the stage. She went on tour, and I never saw her again. By then I had Francine, though, so we didn’t miss her.”

“And after Francine ended up in the cellar, you got Catherine and Anna,” Malloy guessed. “What I want to know is why Anna didn’t end up in the cellar like the others.”

Walcott gave him an impatient look. “She was supposed to, but… I gave Francine opium and she died real quick, like the old man,” he said, apparently forgetting his fiction that the old man’s death had been an accident. “But with Anna… she was the one who got the knife. She was going to stab me, so I was just defending myself. I was going to put her in the cellar with the others, except she wasn’t dead. She was just pretending. While I was outside, opening the door to put her body in before Catherine saw it, she got away. I tried to follow her, but I lost her in the dark.”

Sarah looked at Malloy, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. Now it all made sense! The reason Anna had left the house so late at night, alone, was that she was running for her life. They’d assumed she’d been trying to get home after being stabbed, but she’d really been trying to get away. She’d managed to reach the Square before collapsing. No one there would have helped her or even taken particular notice. They would just have assumed she was drunk and let her lie there and die.

“Why did you try to kill Webster Prescott?” Malloy asked.

Walcott managed a sneer. “Who says I did?”

Before anyone could blink, Malloy gave him a back-handed slap, surprising a gasp from Sarah and a cry of outrage from Harold.

Malloy turned to them in disgust. “If you don’t have the stomach for this, you better leave now.”

Harold looked pale, and Sarah felt very light-headed again. She’d known Malloy’s tactics could be rough, but seeing them was much worse than simply knowing about them. Still, he was dealing with a man who had killed four people. She took a deep breath and said, “You can go if you want to,” to the boy.

Harold shook his head determinedly.

Sarah looked up at Malloy. “We’ll stay.”

He narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t challenge her decision. “Don’t make me ask you again, Walcott,” he said.

“Prescott was too smart,” Walcott said quickly, obviously anxious to avoid another blow. “He’d found out about Anna, that she was an actress, and then he came here, asking more questions. He frightened Catherine, and I was afraid she might say something to him if he got her alone. I had to take care of him.”

“You must be losing your touch,” Malloy said. “First Anna gets away, then Prescott. You botched it twice with the reporter.”

Walcott gave Sarah a black look. “You turn up like a bad penny.”

“Don’t expect me to apologize,” she said.

“Why did you have to kill Catherine Porter?” Malloy asked.

Walcott sighed. “I’ll always regret that. I was very fond of Catherine, but she’d figured out what happened to Anna. I had to get away before you figured it out, too, and I couldn’t leave her behind to tell what she knew.”

“So you decided to pretend that you’d run away with Catherine and left your poor innocent wife behind,” Sarah guessed.

Walcott just gave her a derisive stare.

“Are we going to find your wife buried in the cellar, too?” Malloy asked him.

Walcott gave him a pitying look. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? There is no Mrs. Walcott. I’m the entire Walcott family.” He smiled at his own joke.

“I found the wigs and the fake beard in your bedroom,” Malloy said. “What gave you the idea to dress up like a woman in the first place?”

“After the old man died, I needed a wife,” Walcott said, obviously proud of his ingenuity. “Ellie couldn’t be living with a single man. That wouldn’t be respectable. So we invented Mrs. Walcott.”

“What do you mean, invented her?”

“I created the character,” Walcott bragged. “I became Mrs. Walcott whenever we felt that we needed her.”

“You’ve needed her a lot lately,” Sarah observed.

Walcott didn’t seem the least bit chagrined. “I found I enjoyed being Mrs. Walcott. And the gentlemen callers were much more comfortable dealing with a female landlady. It was my greatest role, and I believe I handled it admirably. I fooled all of you,” he reminded them again.

Plainly, Malloy found the whole idea distasteful. “Didn’t Anna and Catherine and the others think it was strange having you dressed up like a woman all the time?”

“They didn’t seem to. Actually, I think it excited them. The very afternoon Anna died, she came to me and-”

“That’s enough,” Malloy said, glancing meaningfully at Sarah and Harold.

They stared back blankly, shocked into silence by the strangeness of the tale.

Someone started knocking on the front door, and one of the policemen opened it. Sarah looked out into the foyer to see an elderly woman come in with a covered plate in her hands. “I’m Miss Stone from next door,” she was explaining to the policeman. “I brought some food, in case anyone is hungry.”

Sarah’s stomach growled. She was on her feet in an instant. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Stone,” she said, grateful for a chance to escape this bizarre conversation, and hurried out to accept her gracious gift.

WHEN I WAS DOING RESEARCH FOR THIS BOOK, I CAME across an account of the trials of Maria Barbella, the Italian woman I mentioned in the story who had slashed her lover’s throat because he refused to marry her. Her story was a classic case of justice denied because the defendant was a poor immigrant. Maria was fortunate to attract the attention of a wealthy patroness who championed her cause and won her a new trial. The second time, she was found not guilty because she was temporarily insane, one of the first individuals to be acquitted on those grounds.

As I read Maria’s story, I was struck by how contemporary it sounded. Maria’s case was first tried in the media of her era, the dozens of scandal sheets that passed for newspapers at the time. They judged her guilty and made a case against her before she ever came to trial. As reporters vied to make the story more sensational so they could sell more papers, the truth was mangled beyond recognition. Maria spent a long year on death row before she was granted a new trial.

Maria became a media celebrity in particular because she was the killer. In most cases where a lover was killed, the victim was the woman, and the man went on trial. In such cases, the woman’s reputation was often destroyed in the press until the public came to believe she’d only gotten what she deserved. Today we call this putting the victim on trial, and the tactic continues to work, convincing juries to free even the most heinous of murderers.

I continue to be amazed at how little has changed in the hundred years since Frank and Sarah walked the streets of New York City. I hope you find reading about it as fascinating as I find writing about it. Please let me know what you thought of this book. You may contact me at:

Victoria Thompson

PO Box 638

Duncansville, PA 16635

http://members.aol.com/vestinpa/index.html