Murder On Fifth Avenue

1

“DETECTIVE SERGEANT MALLOY?”

Frank hated answering stupid questions from goo-goos when he was in the middle of an investigation. He looked up from interviewing one of the employees of the warehouse that had been robbed last night. This brand-new police officer didn’t even look old enough to shave. “What?”

“I have a message for you from the chief.” The way he was puffing, he must’ve run all the way from Police Headquarters to deliver it.

“Which chief?”

“Chief O’Brien.”

Frank straightened. He didn’t dare ignore a message from the chief of detectives. The young man held out a piece of paper, and Frank snatched it from him. Unfolding it, he read the message. Felix Decker requests your presence at the Knickerbocker Club immediately. O’Brien had given the address and signed it.

Frank swore. Felix Decker might not be the richest, most powerful man in the city, but he was rich and powerful enough, and he knew all the men who were richer and more powerful than he was. He also knew the chief of detectives, the chief of police, and the mayor. Most of all, he knew Frank. And Frank knew Felix Decker’s daughter, Sarah Brandt, which was the real reason Decker knew Frank would jump when Decker called.

“What am I supposed to do about this?” Frank gestured to include the warehouse where he’d spent most of the day investigating the robbery.

“The chief said he’d send somebody else to take over.”

Of course he would. He’d send another detective who would gladly take over and get the reward for solving this case. As soon as Frank had located the thieves and negotiated with them, he would have split the reward with them and returned the merchandise. That’s how business was done in New York City, and everybody knew it. Another detective would be more than happy to take over his case.

Frank swore again.

FRANK HUNKERED INSIDE HIS OVERCOAT AGAINST WINTER’S late afternoon chill as he stopped on the sidewalk outside the Knickerbocker Club to catch his breath. The trip from the riverfront warehouse uptown involved more walking than Frank normally liked to do, but the jam of wagons in the city streets made it by far the fastest mode of crosstown transportation. Then he had boarded the Sixth Avenue Elevated Train, the only truly fast mode of transportation in the city, squeezing into a packed car for the trip uptown. Another brisk walk over to Fifth Avenue, and here he was.

New York had hundreds of men’s clubs, few more exclusive than the Knickerbocker. Micks need not apply, nor much of anyone else, as far as he knew. Except for a few of the Jewish upper crust, membership was restricted to descendants of the original Dutch and English settlers of the city. Knickerbockers. Some said the nickname Knickerbocker came from the knee-length pants the early colonists wore. Others said from a story by Washington Irving. What did he care? Even though they allowed Jews to belong, he’d bet a year’s pay no Irish Catholic had ever crossed the threshold.

So why in God’s name had Decker set their meeting here and not at his office? Unfortunately, the only way to find out was to go inside.

He climbed the front steps and gave the imposing brass knocker a serious thump. The door swung wide, and he exchanged glances with a man got up for a fancy dress ball in his cutaway and stiff white shirt. Fortunately, Frank had been around enough rich people to know the fellow who answered the door was a servant, no matter how he might be dressed.

Frank opened his mouth to quickly explain his presence here before the butler could slam the door in his face-it had happened before-but the fellow said, “Mr. Malloy, Mr. Decker is expecting you,” before he could speak.

He stepped back to allow Frank to enter and took his hat and coat, then led him down a short hallway. Thick carpets muffled their footsteps, and Frank inhaled the scent of expensive cigars and old leather. Dark paneling covered the walls, and decorative light fixtures muted the glare of the electric lights. Nothing but the best. As they reached a small sitting room, he caught sight of Felix Decker, who was apparently trying to pace a hole in the expensive carpeting.

“Mr. Malloy has arrived,” the butler said, then took his leave.

The tall elegant man stopped instantly and strode forward, offering Frank his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Malloy.”

As if he could have refused. Frank simply nodded as he returned Decker’s firm handshake.

“Please, sit down.” Decker indicated the chesterfield sofa. A liberal amount of silver threaded Decker’s fair hair, and his blue eyes held the wisdom and cynicism of age, although today they were troubled in a way Frank had never seen before. Decker took the closest chair and rubbed his hands together as if uncertain exactly what to do with them.

Felix Decker was upset. Frank didn’t think Felix Decker ever got upset.

“Have you been here before?” Decker asked.

“No.” Frank didn’t bother to explain his theory that he was the first Irish Catholic to ever enter the club by the front door.

“We aren’t a particularly old club,” Decker said. “We formed back in seventy-one, when some Union Club members felt the membership requirements there had become too liberal.”

Frank had no trouble believing that at all.

“I tell you this so you’ll understand the men with whom you’ll be dealing.”

Frank didn’t think Felix Decker was going to propose him for membership, so he couldn’t imagine needing to have any contact with the other members at all. “Dealing?”

“Yes, you see, one of our members was found dead here this afternoon.”

“Dead or murdered?” Simply finding somebody dead wouldn’t prompt anybody to send for a police detective.

Decker drew a deep breath. “At first we assumed he had simply passed away from natural causes. A bad heart, perhaps. He seemed to be dozing peacefully in his chair, but when one of the waiters accidentally bumped the chair and he didn’t react…Well, he was quite cold, so they knew he had been dead for a while.”

“But now you don’t think he just passed away.”

“No. You see, we sent for an undertaker. He was the one who noticed the bloodstain on the chair and then on Devries’s clothing. He quickly determined that he had been stabbed in the back.”

“So somebody here stabbed him?”

“Certainly not. At least we are fairly confident it couldn’t have happened here without Devries raising some kind of alarm, so it must have happened prior to his arrival. As far as I can ascertain, he appeared here sometime in the midafternoon and went to the library to read the newspapers. He complained to one of the staff of not feeling well. He asked for some brandy but only drank a small amount, and then he fell asleep, or so everyone thought.”

This wasn’t making sense. If a man got stabbed, why wouldn’t he get medical attention? Or at least stay at home and tend to his wound? Why would he go out to his club, of all things? “Was it possible he didn’t know he’d been stabbed?”

“The wound is small, according to the undertaker, and it had bled very little. I can’t imagine he would have been traveling around the city if he’d suspected he was mortally wounded.”

“Did the undertaker think this small wound could have killed him?”

Decker pressed his lips together, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “Mr. Robinson, the undertaker, suggested as much. He said he has seen similar things before in his line of work. Most of the bleeding occurs inside the body, apparently.”

Frank supposed such a thing could happen. He’d seen someone die from being stabbed with a hat pin, of all things. “Did Robinson refuse to take the body?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I gather he was perfectly willing to be discreet, but he felt the club should know, in case we wanted to deal with the matter ourselves.”

So they were back to dealing again. This, Frank assumed, was to be his part in it. “What did you decide?”

Now Decker looked positively gray around the gills. Plainly, he wasn’t used to discussing such unpleasantries, at least not within the walls of his beloved Knickerbocker. “We called together all the board members who happened to be on the premises this afternoon. I’m sure you understand we want the club’s reputation protected at all costs.”

“Then tell the undertaker to pack up the body.”

“Please do not judge us so harshly.” He was angry now, and Frank didn’t blame him. “If Devries did indeed die by the hand of another, we would also like to see justice done.”

Frank leaned back on the surprisingly uncomfortable sofa and studied Decker for a long moment. He didn’t like this one bit, probably because he didn’t believe Decker’s protests about wanting justice. “Are you saying you want me to find out who killed this Devries character?”

“Find out, yes. That’s exactly what we want you to do.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Usually, when I solve a murder, I arrest the killer, and he goes to trial, and then, if he’s found guilty, he goes to prison or gets executed.” Of course, it wasn’t always so neat, but he didn’t need to mention that to Decker. “Is that what you want?”

“It all depends.”

Ah, now we’re getting down to it. “On what?”

“On who is responsible for Devries’s death. You must realize this is why I summoned you, out of all the detectives in New York, Mr. Malloy, because I know you can be trusted.”

Frank didn’t know how trustworthy he was, but he knew Decker rarely called him mister. He must be feeling desperate.

“What you mean is I know how to keep a secret.”

“I would have said you know how to be discreet.”

He was right about that. Frank nodded.

“You will make your report to me, when you have all the facts, and then I will take the matter to our board to decide.”

Now this was something Frank could understand. The rich looked out for each other. He assumed it was much like the police department, where you watched out for your own and stood up for them when they were in trouble. Frank couldn’t imagine why rich people would need that kind of help, but he knew it was available to them.

“Just so I’m clear, what happens if I find out one of your club members is the killer?”

“Then you would not need to take any action at all. We would take care of the matter among ourselves.”

Frank doubted the club had an electric chair on the premises to take care of murderous members or even a cell or two for confining the drunk and disorderly ones. “You’d let a killer go free?”

“Malloy, you know as well as I do your chief would never allow you to arrest any member of this club, no matter what he had done. If you did, he would be freed with an apology from the mayor within hours, and you would lose your job.”

Frank did know this. He’d just wanted to find out what Decker had in mind. “Then why call me in at all?”

“If Devries’s killer is someone you can bring to justice, you may do so with our blessing. If the killer is someone whom the law cannot touch, then we will take care of the matter ourselves. That is all you need to know. Now, are you willing to assist us?”

Did he really have a choice? Decker and his kind were more than capable of taking care of him if he refused. “Devries’s family and the other members of your club aren’t going to want an Irish cop nosing around in their business.” That was the real problem with calling Frank in on this, and Decker should’ve known it.

“They will when I introduce you, and if anyone fails to cooperate with your investigation, you are to notify me immediately.”

Frank wanted to refuse. He wanted to have a good reason to refuse, but investigating crimes was his job, and pleasing men like Felix Decker was the job of everyone in the city, if they knew what was good for them.

Besides, what would he say to Sarah Brandt if he refused to help her father?

Frank managed not to sigh in defeat. “Is the body still here?”

THE KNICKERBOCKER LIBRARY HELD FEW ACTUAL BOOKS, just those on the set of shelves along one wall, and they looked as if they had never been opened. Newspapers lay stacked on just about every other available surface, however. A quick glance told Frank they seemed to have a copy of every rag and scandal sheet in the city, in addition to the World, the Herald, and the Times. Since most of the papers published two editions a day, simply purchasing all of them must be a full-time job for someone.

The fellow who had answered the door had let them into the library. “I made sure no one else came in after Mr. Robinson left,” he told Decker.

“Good, good.” Decker turned to Frank. “Hartley here is the one who realized Mr. Devries was dead.”

Mr. Devries still sat propped in a wingback chair beside the fireplace, where the undertaker must have left him. The fire had burned down, but the room was still warm. Clearly the Knickerbocker Club had central heating.

In life, Devries had been a substantial man, not fat but large boned. Of medium height, he wore a suit that had been tailor-made to fit his frame to best advantage. His dark hair showed only a touch of gray and had been tamed this morning with a liberal dose of hair tonic. His well-tended hands lay slightly clenched in his lap, as if silently resisting a final spasm of pain. He sat slumped to one side. His eyes were closed, and his mouth open.

“Is that how you found him?”

Hartley shook his head. “Not exactly. Mr. Robinson had brought a stretcher, and his two helpers were moving Mr. Devries from the chair when they noticed the bloodstain on the chair back. Mr. Robinson quickly realized it had come from Mr. Devries, so he told his assistants to put Mr. Devries back as they’d found him, and he asked me to summon someone in authority. Mr. Decker was the highest-ranking club officer present, so I informed him of Mr. Robinson’s request.”

Frank looked closely at the dead man to see if anything seemed out of place. “Do you remember exactly how he was sitting when you found him?”

“Much like this, except perhaps a bit straighter in the chair. His head was resting against the wing of the chair, and his eyes were closed, as if he had dozed off.”

Frank glanced around. “Mr. Decker said someone brought him brandy.”

“I did, but he only took a sip or two. I removed the snifter when Mr. Robinson arrived.”

“I’ll need to see the glass and the bottle you poured it from.”

“The glass had been washed.”

Frank bit back his irritation. “The bottle, then.” He didn’t think the man had been poisoned, but he wanted to be thorough. He turned to Decker. “I’ll need to call the medical examiner to take the body. They’ll have to do an autopsy to be sure what killed him.”

“Is that really necessary?” Decker asked with obvious distaste.

“Unless you want me harassing a bunch of rich people when the man really did die of a heart attack.”

Irritation registered on Decker’s face, but no trace of it was evident in his voice. “Hartley, show Mr. Malloy where the telephone is.”

DOC HAYNES BROUGHT TWO ASSISTANTS WITH HIM, TOO. As soon as they moved the body to the stretcher, Frank saw the bloodstain on the chair back.

“He didn’t bleed much,” Frank observed.

“Let’s take a look,” Doc Haynes said.

He had the two orderlies roll Devries over and lift his suit coat. The undertaker had obviously already made a similar examination. Devries’s shirttail was still out in the back. They pushed up the suit coat, vest, shirt, and undershirt, all of which bore evidence of the blood that had stained the chair. The stain on the undershirt was the largest. They grew progressively smaller until the one on the chair was only the size of a coin.

Haynes traced the tiny wound with his finger. If they hadn’t been looking for it, Frank would’ve missed it entirely. “A wound like this wouldn’t bleed much, and his clothes absorbed most of it, as you can see.”

“Could a wound that small have killed him?”

“Depends on what caused it. How long the weapon was, I mean. A stiletto makes a hole like this. So does an ice pick.”

“Or a hat pin.”

“You have a lot of experience getting stabbed with hat pins?” Haynes asked with amusement.

“If you mean for getting fresh with women on streetcars, no,” Frank said with a grin. “But I had a case once where a fellow got killed by one.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember it now. So you understand, it’s possible. Just depends how far the weapon went in and what it hit. Right here, now…” Haynes pointed to the spot in the middle of the right side of Devries’s back where the dried blood was starting to flake. “There’s probably a kidney an inch or two behind this hole. A knife or other sharp object stuck into a kidney, well, it would be just a matter of time until he bled to death internally unless he got help. Even if he did get help, probably. I doubt a surgeon would cut him open for something that small, at least not right away.”

“And later would be too late.”

“Yeah, by the time he started feeling sick, he’d probably be back at home. Or at his club.”

Frank didn’t return his grin. “Don’t forget to test the brandy, just to be sure.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get him packed up and be on our way. I’ll send you word when I’m finished with the autopsy.”

Frank left Haynes and his helpers to their work and went in search of Decker. He found him in what was apparently the main room of the club, a large open area furnished with groupings of chairs and sofas. Decker was the only one there.

“Where is everybody?”

Decker rose as Frank approached. “I sent them home when we realized there was a question about Devries’s death.”

Frank resisted the urge to swear at Felix Decker. “I’ll need to know who was here, in case they know anything,” he replied, pleased to note that the fury roiling inside of him wasn’t evident in his voice.

“Hartley will make a list for you, but I already told you, he wasn’t attacked by anyone here at the club.”

“You’re probably right, but Devries might’ve said something about being attacked earlier today.”

“I didn’t think of that, but I suppose he might have. I’ll have Hartley ask all the members who were present if they spoke with Devries. Would that be satisfactory?”

Frank supposed it would have to be. “I need to go see his family. Has anybody notified them yet?”

Decker’s composure slipped a bit. “No, I…I was waiting until I had something more to tell them besides that he was…deceased.”

“Are you going to tell them yourself?”

“I feel it’s my duty, yes.”

“Then I’ll go with you. I need to see their reaction.”

“You can’t think anyone in his family is responsible!”

Frank gripped the back of the chair, glanced at the mantel clock, then back at his host. “First you tell me his friends couldn’t have done it. Now you tell me his family couldn’t have done it. Do you think some stranger just came up to him on the street and stuck a knife in his back for no reason?”

Color flooded Decker’s face as he obviously fought for composure as well. Frank knew he wasn’t used to being challenged by the help. “That would, of course, be my preference, but I suppose it’s too much to ask. I’ll have Hartley summon a cab for us.”

THEY COULD HAVE WALKED TO DEVRIES’S HOUSE MUCH more quickly than the cab carried them through the clogged streets, but Frank supposed men like Felix Decker didn’t walk in the city. Frank could think of no appropriate small talk to break the tense silence, and apparently, Decker couldn’t either.

Devries had lived only a few blocks from the Deckers’ residence on the Upper West Side, a place Frank had visited only once and not at Felix Decker’s invitation. The houses on these streets had been built to impress but not intimidate, the way the mansions on Fifth Avenue had. He’d been in enough of them to know what to expect, and he wasn’t surprised by anything he saw here.

A maid answered the door and her face lit with recognition. “Mr. Decker, I’m sorry, but Mr. Devries is not at home.”

“I know he’s not. Is Mrs. Devries here? I need to speak with her immediately.”

“Oh, dear, yes, of course. Please come in and I’ll see if Mrs. Devries can receive you.”

Frank watched alarm alter her features as she sensed the urgency and tried to decide how best to treat these unexpected visitors. She probably feared offending Decker if she showed them to the inevitably small, uncomfortable room near the front door where such guests usually waited while it was determined if they were welcome or not.

“We can wait in the front parlor,” Decker said, as if sensing her dilemma.

“Yes, sir,” she said with obvious relief, and led them upstairs into an oppressively overstuffed room obviously reserved for formal company. No fire had been lit, but Frank decided, despite the abundance of knickknacks cluttering every tabletop, velvets, and doilies, it would have been cold in any case. Nothing about it was comfortable.

“Sir, should I…?”

“Yes?”

“I mean, do you want to see just Mrs. Devries, or should I ask Mr. Paul to join you?”

“Please ask Paul to join us, too, if he’s at home.”

When the maid had closed the door behind herself, Decker turned to Frank. “I suppose I should have asked your permission to include Paul. That’s Devries’s son.”

Frank ignored the sarcasm. “If the wife is going to get hysterical, having the son here is a good idea.”

Decker made a rude noise, but Frank didn’t know what in particular had annoyed him, so he pretended not to notice his displeasure. Instead he glanced around at the enormous furniture upholstered in dark blue plush overwhelming the space. A large painting of a sour-looking gentleman hung above the fireplace in a hideous gilt frame, and dark landscapes depicting fox hunts adorned the others. Heavy drapes hung at the windows, trailing onto the floor and tied back with gold cords. No ray of sunlight had managed to enter the room.

Mrs. Devries didn’t keep them waiting long. He figured he had Decker to thank for that.

The wisp of a woman, dressed in a gown more suited to someone half her age, paused in the doorway and struck a pose, her finger to her chin as she gazed first at Decker and then at him. She wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. Her fair hair had been elaborately arranged but appeared stiff as straw. Like her face, it seemed a bit the worse for wear. After a moment, she tipped her head quizzically to one side and offered the hand not clutching a lacy handkerchief to Decker.

“Felix, what on earth brings you here at this ungodly hour? I hope the girl told you Chilton isn’t at home, and I have no idea when he’ll return. He never confides in me, you know. You have no idea how I suffer.”

Decker took her hand in both of his. “Lucretia, I know very well how you suffer. You tell me every time I set eyes on you. Please, come in and sit down. Is Paul here?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. Paul never confides in me either. I’m always the last to know everything that goes on in my own house.”

This was going to be horrible, Frank decided. The wife would dissolve into hysterics and he wouldn’t be able to get a thing out of her. Then her doctor would come and give her laudanum, and he’d never be allowed back in the house again.

Mrs. Devries jabbered on about something or other that had caused her distress as Decker escorted her to a sofa. He had no sooner seated her than a young man appeared, still smoothing his suit coat as he strode into the room. “Mr. Decker, what a pleasant surprise.”

Paul Devries resembled his mother. A small man with delicate features and her fair coloring, he seemed nervous and uncertain as he ran a hand over his thinning hair. Frank wondered if this was his usual temperament or if Decker’s arrival had upset him.

“I’m very sorry to burst in on you like this, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Something that might have been alarm flickered over Paul Devries’s face but was gone before Frank could be sure.

“I’m sure I don’t want to hear bad news, whatever it might be,” Mrs. Devries was saying. “I have a very nervous disposition, you know. I cannot abide unpleasantness.”

“You will have to abide this, I’m afraid,” Decker said, plainly unmoved by her protests. “Chilton is dead.”

Both mother and son stared at him in what appeared to be genuine shock.

“Dead?” Paul echoed, as if he’d never heard the word be-fore.

“That’s impossible,” his mother said. “He was perfectly fine when he left the house this morning.”

“What time was that?” Frank asked from where he stood beside the cold fireplace.

Both Devrieses looked at him in surprise.

“I’m very sorry. I should have introduced you,” Decker said. “Lucretia, Paul, this is Detective Sergeant Malloy of the New York City Police Department.”

If anything, they looked even more surprised.

Paul blinked first. “Police? Why are the police here?”

“Because it appears your father was murdered.”

Frank braced himself for screaming, but to his surprise, the widow seemed more annoyed than upset.

“What on earth are you talking about, Felix? None of this makes any sense at all!”

“I’m afraid I’ve made a botch of this, although I’m sure you can understand I have never had occasion to notify a family that one of their members has been…killed.”

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Paul said, moving somewhat awkwardly to the nearest chair and lowering himself into it.

To Frank’s surprise, Decker looked over at him, as if to get his approval. Frank nodded, then watched carefully for their reactions.

“Chilly came to the Knickerbocker this afternoon.”

“As was his habit,” Mrs. Devries said. “But surely you know that.”

“Yes, well, in any case, he went to the library to read the newspapers. The staff noticed he seemed to have dozed off, but eventually, when he did not respond to a disturbance, they realized he had passed away.”

“In his sleep? Just like that?” Mrs. Devries said.

“That hardly sounds like murder,” Paul said with a trace of outrage.

“We sent for an undertaker, and when he moved the body, he discovered some blood. The source of the blood was a wound on Chilly’s back. Someone had stabbed him.”

“Are you saying someone at the club stabbed him?” Mrs. Devries asked. “How could such a thing happen?”

“We believe someone stabbed him before he arrived at the club.”

“Are you saying my father was fatally stabbed, and yet he walked away, went to his club, and sat down to read the newspapers without saying a word to anyone?”

“The wound itself is quite small and on his back, and it bled very little. He probably had no idea how seriously he had been injured. It may even have been an accident,” Decker added, with a glance at Frank, who chose not to contradict him. Maybe it had been an accident.

“How could such a small injury have killed him, then?” Mrs. Devries seemed offended at the thought.

“I am sure the medical examiner will be able to explain that after the autopsy.”

Paul jumped to his feet. “Good God, they’re not doing an autopsy!”

“I’m afraid they must. We have to be sure what killed him, you see.”

“So there is still some doubt?” Mrs. Devries said. “He may not have been murdered at all?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Decker said.

Frank caught his imploring glance and took a seat near Paul Devries. When Frank sat down, Paul resumed his seat as well. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Devries?”

She widened her eyes at him, then looked him over with disdain. “Felix, really, is this necessary?”

“I’m afraid it is. If someone murdered Chilly, you want them found, don’t you?”

Mrs. Devries seemed to consider her answer carefully, but before she replied, her son said, “Of course we do. I saw my father this morning, before he left the house. He was perfectly fine, and I saw no one attack him.”

“It must have happened after he left home. There can be no other explanation,” his mother confirmed. “No one here would have stabbed him, I can assure you of that.”

Frank looked from mother to son and back again. Had either of them realized they had not expressed the least bit of anguish or grief at hearing the head of their family was dead? “As Mr. Decker said, it may have been an accident, but we need to be sure. Who else lives here?”

“The servants, of course, and my wife,” Paul said.

“Your wife?”

Paul bristled. “You can’t think she stabbed my father in the back.”

Frank had to admit it sounded unlikely, but he hadn’t met her yet, so he would reserve judgment. “Any other family members?”

“My two daughters are married, so of course they don’t live here.”

“Can you tell me what time Mr. Devries left the house today?”

“I certainly cannot,” his wife said. “Mr. Devries comes and goes as he pleases without consulting me.”

“Do you know what his plans were for the day?”

Mrs. Devries glared at him. “I told you, Mr. Devries does as he pleases.”

Frank was starting to wish she’d gotten hysterical.

“Roderick will know. That’s his valet,” Paul said.

“I’ll need to talk with him and with your other servants, too,” Frank said.

“Is this necessary? I don’t want the household upset,” Mrs. Devries said. “My nerves won’t stand it.”

“Mother, there’s no help for it. With Papa dead-”

“Dead?” a new voice said.

They all looked up. A young woman had entered the room. She wore a simple gown, and her rich, dark hair had been brushed into an ordinary bun, but her unadorned beauty far outshone Mrs. Devries’s frippery. This must be the other Mrs. Devries.

The men rose instantly to their feet.

“Who’s dead?” she asked.

“Oh, Garnet,” Mrs. Devries said, her voice rising into a wail. “Mr. Decker has come to tell us poor Papa is dead.” The tears Frank had expected earlier began to flow, making him wonder if she’d just been waiting for the right audience.

Paul immediately went to comfort his mother, leaving his wife to her own devices. She looked at Felix Decker. “Is it true? Is the old man really dead?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say.”

Frank watched the emotions flicker across her face too rapidly for him to identify, and then to his surprise, she broke into a dazzling smile. “He’s dead,” she said with what could only be called exultation, and she began to laugh.