Murder On Fifth Avenue

3

FRANK KNEW BETTER THAN TO JUMP TO ANY CONCLUSIONS. “You think the person Mr. Devries saw after he left the house today is the one who killed him?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I do know that Mr. Devries was not looking forward to the interview.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Not in so many words, but as I said, I know…knew Mr. Devries very well. I could read his moods.”

“And what was his mood today?”

“He seemed preoccupied.”

“Worried?”

“That would be too strong a word, I believe. He was anticipating his meeting with Mr. Angotti with some concern.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Salvatore Angotti. He is a foreigner. Italian, if I recall.”

Frank just barely managed to keep his mouth from dropping open in surprise. An Italian. Doc Haynes thought Devries had been stabbed with a thin-bladed knife, like the kind Italians had brought with them to America. A stiletto. “What business would Mr. Devries have with an Italian?”

Roderick shrugged. “I have no idea. That is something you will have to discuss with Mr. Angotti.”

Frank leaned back in his chair and considered this information. “Do you usually keep track of Mr. Devries’s business appointments?”

“Certainly not, but I would inquire about his plans for the day in order to select the proper attire. This morning, he said, Roderick, I’m sure whatever I wear will impress Salvatore Angotti.”

“Do you know this Angotti?”

Once again Roderick stiffened. “No one with a name like Angotti would ever visit Mr. Devries at his home.”

This was undoubtedly true. “Had you heard of him before today?”

“I do not believe I have, no. And I’m afraid I was unable to conceal my surprise that Mr. Devries would be meeting with someone like that. He must have noticed, because he said, Angotti is a very unpleasant man, Roderick. I shall be glad to see the last of him.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“I assumed he was hoping to never have to meet with the man again.”

“And you don’t have any idea who he is or how Mr. Devries knew him?”

“None at all.”

“Who would?”

“Someone at Mr. Devries’s offices may know this Angotti person. If anyone stabbed Mr. Devries, I’m sure he’s the one.”

And Frank was sure Felix Decker would be very pleased if he could put the blame for Devries’s murder on an Italian.

SARAH SAT AT HER KITCHEN TABLE, SAVORING THE LAST hour of the day. With Catherine safely tucked in for the night, she had just filled Maeve in on what she knew about Chilton Devries’s death and her plans to visit the widow tomorrow with her mother.

A knock at the door made them both sigh. “I knew this was too good to last.” Sarah rose and motioned for Maeve to stay put.

“Maybe it’s not a baby.”

“This late? What else could it be?”

What else indeed?

“Malloy,” she said with a welcoming smile when she’d opened the door. She’d long since stopped feeling guilty for the rush of joy she experienced whenever she saw him. His visits didn’t always make her happy, but he certainly made her life more interesting.

“I’m sorry to call so late,” he said, stepping into the entryway.

She closed the door and took his hat and coat. He looked tired. “You know you’re always welcome, but you’re especially welcome this evening. I need to find out what you’d like me to ask Mrs. Devries tomorrow.” She managed not to laugh out loud at his expression.

“How-Your father…?”

“He stopped by to see me after he left you. Come into the kitchen. Have you eaten?”

“The Devrieses’ cook took pity on me. I could use some coffee if you have any, though.”

“How is Brian doing in school?”

“He’s learning to sign new words every day. I can’t keep up with him.” Sarah could see his pride in his deaf son’s progress shinning in his eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Malloy,” Maeve said as they entered the kitchen. “We’re so glad you came. We’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what Mrs. Brandt and Mrs. Decker should do tomorrow when they visit Mrs. Devries.”

Malloy’s expression grew even more amazed, and he plunked down in one of the kitchen chairs as if he’d been punched. “What did your father say to you?”

Sarah found a cup in the cupboard and filled it from the remains of the pot she’d made earlier for her parents. “You probably think he forbade me to get involved in investigating Mr. Devries’s murder and that I plan to visit the widow tomorrow out of spite.”

He glanced at Maeve, who was grinning. “Are you telling me he didn’t forbid you to get involved?”

Sarah set the cup on the table in front of him. “Not only did he not forbid me, he asked me go along with my mother on her condolence call to see what I could find out about the Devries family.”

“Why would he do a thing like that?”

Sarah took a seat. “I hope you won’t be insulted, but he said he thought something odd was going on in that house, and he didn’t think you would be able to find out what it is.”

“He’s right about that.”

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“Oh, dear. I just hope you didn’t come here tonight to forbid me from getting involved, because I couldn’t possibly disobey my father.”

That bit of nonsense made Malloy smile, as she had known it would. “As a matter of fact, I came here to ask if you could possibly go with your mother or at least ask her to see what she could find out about the family.”

“I’m starting to think I must be dreaming, Maeve. Malloy and my father are both asking me to help in a murder investigation.”

Maeve grinned. “It does seem strange.”

Sarah turned back to Malloy. “I guess this means you really weren’t able to find out anything useful.”

Malloy sighed. “I spent all this time since your father left the Devrieses’ house questioning the servants. All I found out is that nobody in that house would have hurt Devries and that he had an appointment this afternoon with some mysterious Italian fellow nobody there has ever seen.”

“Italian?” Maeve said. “They use those stilettos, don’t they? Isn’t that what stabbed Mr. Devries?”

“Could be. It makes sense, at least. But I don’t know who this Italian is or why he was meeting with Devries. Devries might not have even met with him after all. He could be completely innocent.”

Maeve frowned. “Whether he met with him or not, they’ll try to blame him.”

“Of course they will,” Sarah said. “We’ve seen firsthand how much people distrust the Italians. That’s why it’s important for Mr. Malloy to find out the truth.”

Sarah turned to Malloy, expecting a confirmation. Instead he said, “So your mother is going to call on Mrs. Devries tomorrow?”

“Yes, and my father asked me to accompany her so I could ask some nosy questions and find out why none of his family members seemed the least bit grief-stricken that Mr. Devries is dead.”

“Did he tell you the daughter-in-law actually laughed when she heard the news?”

“That could have been shock,” Sarah said.

“You didn’t see her. I wanted to ask her some questions, but I knew the family would never allow it.”

“Just tell me what to ask.”

Malloy frowned and sipped his coffee. “I’m not sure you’ll get much out of her if the widow and the son are there.”

“I may have to make a return visit, then. I’m sure Mrs. Devries will want to receive my mother herself tomorrow, and if the daughter-in-law has something unflattering to say about the dead man, Mrs. Devries will never leave us alone with her.”

Maeve leaned forward in her chair. “Do you have any idea what might be going on? Didn’t you find out anything at all from the servants?”

“I found out the dead man’s valet is loyal to him, even though he didn’t particularly care for the man. The rest of the servants don’t want to be accused of gossiping about the master of the house, so they weren’t very helpful. I got the feeling they could have told me a lot if they’d dared, though.”

“About what?”

“I’m not sure. I do know that Mr. and Mrs. Devries barely spoke to each other, and Mr. Devries has a mistress that he keeps in a house on Mercer Street.”

Sarah should have been shocked, but she knew many rich men kept mistresses. “That’s interesting.”

“Even more interesting, he spent the night there last night and came home around nine o’clock this morning.”

“Why is that interesting?” Maeve asked.

“You mean except for the scandalous excitement such news might cause?” Sarah asked with a grin.

“The medical examiner told me that Devries might’ve been stabbed hours before he died. I don’t know how many hours exactly, but it’s possible he got into an argument with his mistress, and she stuck a hat pin in his back.”

Sarah knew how lethal a well-placed hat pin could be. She’d seen for herself how the six-inch shaft could pierce a heart with a lucky thrust. “Father said Mr. Devries was stabbed in the back.”

“The medical examiner thinks the blade went into his kidney, and he slowly bled to death.”

Maeve curled her lip. “That’s a lot of blood. Wouldn’t somebody have noticed he was bleeding? Wouldn’t he have noticed?”

“The bleeding was inside his body. The little that he bled outside mostly got soaked up by his undershirt.”

“I can’t understand why he allowed someone to injure him so badly and then never even mentioned it to anyone.”

“He probably didn’t know how badly he was hurt. He might’ve thought somebody just punched him or hit him. If it was somebody in his family-”

“Or his mistress,” Maeve added.

“Or his mistress,” Malloy continued, “he probably wouldn’t imagine they were trying to kill him. He argued with his wife and son that morning. If one of them hit him, he wouldn’t call for help or raise any kind of alarm.”

Maeve straightened in her chair. “Why ever not?”

Malloy deferred to Sarah with a nod, picking up his cup again. “He wouldn’t want the servants to know his wife or his son had struck him. Rich people like to pretend they’re better than other people.”

Maeve nodded. “I should’ve figured that out myself.”

“Yes, you should,” Malloy said.

“He must’ve been pretty mean to his daughter-in-law, then,” Maeve said.

“Why do you say that?” Sarah asked.

“I can’t imagine laughing when I heard somebody died unless I really hated him.”

“His wife and son didn’t act like they even cared,” Malloy said.

“Father said Mrs. Devries seemed to be put out by the news.”

“I guess that’s pretty close to how she reacted,” Malloy said. “She sure wasn’t happy about having to wear black now that she’s a widow.”

“Some women just don’t look good in black,” Sarah said, earning a scowl for her sarcasm.

“Have you met the mistress yet?” Maeve asked.

“No. It was too late to call on her when I finished up with the servants. That’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow, that and trying to find this Salvatore Angotti.”

“The Italian,” Maeve said.

“What kind of business would Mr. Devries have with an Italian?” Sarah asked.

“The valet didn’t know, and he made it clear Devries didn’t socialize with people like that.”

“Of course not, but…I wonder if my father would know this…What was his name again?”

“Angotti. How would your father know somebody like that?”

“If Devries did, maybe he’s involved in some business in the city.”

Malloy’s expression told her how unlikely he thought this was.

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe he owns a restaurant or something. What other explanation can you think of for why Devries would be meeting with him?”

“Maybe Mr. Devries wanted him to kill someone for him,” Maeve said.

They gaped at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know about the Black Hand. That’s what they do, isn’t it?”

Sarah knew it very well. They’d encountered the secret group before. “The Black Hand usually only preys on other Italians, though.”

“Things are changing,” Malloy said. “Maeve may be right, but even if she is, you aren’t going to even mention Angotti’s name to anybody at the Devrieses’ house or anywhere else. All you have to do is find out what you can about his family. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“What do you want us to find out exactly?” Sarah asked.

“Why he was arguing with his wife and son on the morning he died, but most of all, why Garnet Devries laughed when she heard he was dead.”

FRANK WONDERED IF ANYONE HAD TOLD MISS NORAH English that her protector was dead. He couldn’t imagine the Devries family thinking of it or doing it if they had. They might not even know she existed. Did Felix Decker know about Miss English? And if so, would he have taken it upon himself to inform her? Frank couldn’t imagine that either. So the chances were good he would be the one to break the news and find out just what Miss English thought of Devries.

Although the city had been bustling busily for several hours, Frank’s visit was still extremely early for a social call. The window shades on the small house on Mercer Street had not yet been raised, giving the impression the house was still asleep.

A maid answered his thundering knock. The stout woman, past middle-aged, seemed harried and not at all pleased to see him. She adjusted her cap, cheeks red from exertion. Or something. She looked him over with a critical-and disapproving-eye. “Who’re you?”

“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy with the New York City Police. I need to see Miss English right away.”

Her eyes widened when he said police, but then her face settled back into a scowl. “Miss English ain’t receiving visitors.”

“I’m not a visitor. This is police business. Tell her I need to speak to her about Mr. Devries.”

“You can’t scare me. I know the police don’t have no business with Mr. Devries.”

“They do if he’s been murdered.”

Her red face went slack. “The devil, you say!”

Frank slapped the partially opened door and gave it a shove, sending her staggering back, then stepped into the tiny foyer. “Go tell Miss English I need to see her.”

“She ain’t even awake yet!”

“Then wake her up and get her down here.”

He could see she was starting to realize the ramifications to her and her mistress. “I ain’t gonna tell her he’s dead.”

“Please don’t. Just tell here there’s been some trouble. I’ll be happy to break the news to her myself.”

“Dear God in heaven, what’ll become of us now?” she muttered.

Frank had no answer for that.

She shut the door behind him. “You can wait in the parlor.” She nodded toward the doorway to his left and trudged off to the back of the house.

Frank removed his hat and coat and hung them on the coat tree by the door. Then he took the opportunity to look around. Devries hadn’t spent a lot of money fixing up the house. Judging from the style and condition of the furnishings, they were leftover from a previous resident who had died of old age. The wallpaper in the hallway and the parlor had faded until the original design was little more than a suggestion. The sofa sagged more than a bit. Only the draperies appeared to be new, probably because the old ones had disintegrated from dry rot.

Miss English had made an effort at personalizing the place with some cheap knickknacks, notable for their tackiness, that cluttered the mantel and a tabletop. Frank had plenty of time to admire them. Miss English did not appear for almost an hour.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Norah English looked much too young and innocent to be anyone’s mistress. A plump girl with apple cheeks, she wore her dark brown hair in an elaborate style that explained why she had taken so long to get dressed. Her dress had probably cost a small fortune, but it didn’t flatter her at all. The multitude of ruffles and flounces only made her look plumper. Or maybe that’s what Devries liked.

“Lizzie said you’re with the police,” she said, her brow furrowed with either uncertainty or concern. “I don’t know why you’re here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Frank could’ve argued with her, but he said, “Maybe you should sit down. I have some bad news for you.”

“I don’t think I should talk to you. Mr. Devries doesn’t like me to talk to strange men. If you have bad news for me, you should tell him. Mr. Devries is my protector. He’ll tell me anything he thinks I need to know.” She folded her hands in front of her and nodded once, as if satisfied at the way she had handled this difficult situation.

He should be kind to this girl who would need all the kindness she could get. “Miss English, I’m very sorry to inform you that Mr. Chilton Devries died yesterday.”

She stared at him for a long moment, blinking furiously. “That’s impossible,” she finally said. “Mr. Devries was here yesterday morning, and he was perfectly fine then.”

“I’m sure he was. He was perfectly fine until yesterday afternoon when he died at his club.”

“He…he died?” The color drained from her apple cheeks. “You’re sure?”

“I’m afraid so, Miss English. Would you like to sit down?”

She didn’t reply. She just kept staring at him. At first he didn’t know where the sound was coming from, and then he realized she was making it, a high-pitched keening just short of a wail. Then she swayed, and he caught her and managed to get her to one of the armchairs before her knees gave way.

“What’ve you done to her?” the maid Lizzie demanded, appearing in the doorway like an avenging angel. “Miss Norah, are you all right?”

Miss English just kept wailing, rocking from side to side in her chair.

“Do you have any brandy?” The maid ignored him. Instead, she strode over to Miss English and slapped her in the face.

Miss English instantly stopped keening. “Chilton is dead,” Miss English said, without so much as a complaint about getting slapped. “What’ll become of us, Lizzie? What will we do?”

“We’ll manage. We always do.” Lizzie turned to Frank. “You can leave now. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”

“I need to ask Miss English some questions first.”

“What kind of questions?”

“That’s none of your business,” Frank said.

“Everything about Miss Norah is my business.”

He considered reminding her she was just the maid, but the way she’d slapped the girl made him wonder. “Fine. You’ll hear the questions when I ask them, then. Miss English?”

The girl looked up at him, rubbing her cheek absently. Her eyes were moist, but he didn’t think she was crying over Devries. “Yes?”

“Can you tell me what happened with Mr. Devries yesterday morning?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you just tell me what he did and what he said from the time he woke up until he left here? I know he’d spent the night.”

The color rose in her face and her expression hardened. “You don’t have any right to judge me.”

“I’m not judging you. I know how hard it can be for a young woman alone.”

“What does it matter what he did here anyway?” Lizzie asked. “You said he died at his club in the afternoon.”

Frank ignored her. “Did you have an argument with Mr. Devries?” he asked the girl.

Her eyes widened. “Do you think it was my fault? That he died, I mean? Is that why? He got upset and had a heart attack or apoplexy or something?”

“So you did have an argument that morning.”

“They just had words,” Lizzie said. “Mr. Devries, he never wanted Lizzie to leave the house, but she’s a young girl. She needs to have some fun once in a while, doesn’t she? He never would take her anywhere, either. That’s all. He wasn’t even mad. Besides, he was fine when he left here.”

Frank kept his gaze on the girl, but she kept glancing from him to the maid. “That’s right. He never got mad at me, you know. He was always very nice, wasn’t he, Lizzie?”

“That’s right, miss. Always.”

“Did you hit him?” Frank asked.

The girl blinked. “What?”

Lizzie was beet red now. “Of course she never hit him! What kind of a girl do you think she is?”

Frank knew exactly what kind of a girl she was. “Sometimes people get so angry they do foolish things. I was just wondering if Miss English had ever hit Mr. Devries in frustration.”

“I-”

“Don’t say a word!” Lizzie snapped, then turned to Frank. “I told you to get out of here. You can’t come in here and bully us.”

Of course he could, but that would be a waste of time. The girl wasn’t going to admit anything now. “Mr. Devries didn’t have a heart attack.”

“How did he die, then?” the girl asked.

He couldn’t tell her the truth, not if he ever expected to find out if she’d done it. “We don’t know yet.”

“Why not?”

“The medical examiner is doing an autopsy to find out what killed him.”

“Then why are you bothering us?” Lizzie asked. “Miss English has enough problems without the likes of you getting her all upset.”

“Miss English, do you know a man named Salvatore Angotti?”

The girl’s eyes widened again.

“Of course she don’t. How would she know somebody like that? A foreigner, of all people. Miss English don’t know people like that.”

Except Frank would’ve bet a month’s pay she knew him very well or had at least heard his name before. He needed to get Miss English alone, without the meddling older woman. But since she was here, he would have to give up for now. He looked around the sad little room. “Do you own the house, Miss English?”

“I-”

“What business is it of yours?” Lizzie asked.

“Just curious. I hope she got him to give her a financial settlement at least. The family won’t waste any time putting her out if she doesn’t own it.”

Fear flashed across the girl’s face. “How long do you think I have?”

So she didn’t own the house. “That depends on whether someone in the family knows about you or not. It might take some time for them to find out if they don’t. If I were you, I’d start making other plans, though. You can’t stay here forever.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and Frank had to look away. He saw plenty of human misery every day. This girl’s situation wasn’t even particularly bleak. She’d probably find another protector, and next time she’d be smarter and ask for the house. In any case, he could do nothing for her. He gave her his card. “I may be back again if I have more questions.”

“More questions about what?” she asked.

Frank didn’t answer. He just walked out of the room with Lizzie on his heels. As if suddenly remembering her duties, she helped Frank on with his coat and handed him his hat.

“How did he die?” she asked in a whisper.

“I told you, I don’t know yet.”

“But you think somebody did him in, don’t you? Was it poison?”

“Maybe. Any idea who might’ve wanted him dead?”

“Anybody that knew him, I’d guess.”

Not a very nice epitaph. “Do you know this Salvatore Angotti?”

“How would I?” She was lying. Frank was sure of it. “But if Devries was poisoned, I’d say he done it. You can’t trust those foreigners.”

Frank figured that’s what everyone would tell him.

MIRACULOUSLY, NO ONE SUMMONED SARAH TO A BIRTH the next day, so she was ready when her mother’s carriage stopped in front of her house on Bank Street that afternoon. Sarah kissed Catherine good-bye and promised that Mrs. Decker would come in to see her when they returned.

Her mother smiled a greeting when Sarah climbed into the carriage. She wore a dove gray suit beneath her fur-lined cape. “I could hardly sleep last night,” she confessed as Sarah settled on the seat beside her.

“Did you find out anything new from Father last night?”

“No, he went back to the club and didn’t come in until late. He felt he should be there in case any of the members wanted to know what had happened to poor Chilton. Then he went back today. Why are mourning calls made in the afternoon? This has been the slowest day of my life.”

Sarah smiled. “I don’t know who created the rules for proper behavior, but I imagine women decided that having mourning callers in the morning didn’t give them enough time to dress properly or something.”

“Don’t make fun, Sarah. These things are very important to many people.”

“I’m not making fun, Mother, but I must say, I’m thankful I don’t have to worry about these things much anymore. By the way, Malloy came by last night.”

“He did? I’m so sorry I missed him. Did you tell him about our plans?”

“Yes, and he was just as shocked as we were that Father wanted me to go with you.”

“I’m sure he was. Oh, dear, I suppose he came to warn you not to get involved. I know how he feels about you putting yourself in danger.”

“That’s what I expected, too, but no, he also asked me to go with you today. So we have his blessing, too.”

Mrs. Decker frowned. “I’m not sure I like this. Having permission takes away a lot of the excitement, doesn’t it?”

“Mother.”

“Well, it does. So tell me what Mr. Malloy had to say so we can plan what we’re going to do when we get to Lucretia’s house.”

City traffic slowed their progress to a crawl, so Sarah had plenty of time to relay what Malloy had shared with her. By the time they were escorted into the Devrieses’ parlor, they both felt confident of their mission.

“Elizabeth, thank you so much for coming,” Lucretia Devries said, ensconced in an overstuffed chair, her feet resting demurely on a needlepoint footstool. She offered a limp hand, wrist to ankle encased in the unrelieved black taffeta of a recent widow.

“I’m so very sorry to hear about Chilton,” Elizabeth said, taking the offered hand.

“Oh, yes, such a terrible shock. I don’t know what I would do without Paul. Children can be such a comfort during a time like this.”

“I’m sure they can. Lucretia, you remember my daughter, Sarah Brandt, don’t you?”

Sarah watched the older woman’s gaze sharpen as she turned, perhaps remembering Sarah’s rebellious elopement and the resulting rift with her family. “My condolences, Mrs. Devries.”

“Thank you, my dear. Please, sit down. I’ve rung for some tea. You must be frozen. How troublesome to have to bury Chilton when the weather is so bad.”

Sarah seated herself on a sofa across from Mrs. Devries. “I’m sure he never thought of the inconvenience when he died,” her mother said with a perfectly straight face as she joined her.

“How like him.”

Sarah coughed to cover a laugh.

“Oh, dear, I hope you’re not ill. I’m very susceptible to illness.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Sarah said.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter-in-law, Lucretia,” Mrs. Decker said. “Will she be joining us?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I sent the maid to tell her we have visitors, but that girl does only what she wants.”

“How long have she and Paul been married now?”

“Almost two years, and no sign of a child yet. Young women today have no sense of responsibility. I was already expecting my second child when I’d been married for two years.”

“I’m sure you’re anxious for more grandchildren,” Mrs. Decker said.

“I don’t care a thing about grandchildren, but one has a duty to carry on the family name, doesn’t one?”

The parlor door opened, breaking the awkward silence, and a beautiful young woman stepped in, also swathed in the unrelieved black of full mourning.

“Oh, here she is at last,” Mrs. Devries said, as if they had been waiting hours. “My daughter-in-law, Garnet. Mrs. Decker and her daughter, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah and her mother made the proper replies to Garnet Devries’s polite greeting, then they offered their condolences on her recent loss, to which she merely murmured a stiff, “Thank you,” before taking a seat on the chair farthest from her mother-in-law.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Devries said. “I know Garnet will feel Chilly’s loss more than any of us. He was so very fond of her, you know.”

Sarah turned in time to catch an expression of the fiercest hatred twisting Garnet’s lovely features.

If looks really could kill, the Devrieses would be planning two funerals this week.