Murder on Sisters' Row

9

FRANK WAITED A FEW MINUTES LONGER AT THE COFFEE shop before heading out to visit the two gentlemen. The police didn’t have to worry about formal visiting times, and he thought the closer to dinner he arrived, the more likely he was to find them at home. From Sarah’s description, they sounded as if they didn’t need to work, but they might have other reasons to be out of the house during the day.

He went to Mr. Quimby’s first. He lived in one of those apartment buildings on Marble Row, a section of Fifth Avenue where all the buildings were fronted with marble. The doorman didn’t want a policeman to enter the building, so Frank had to threaten to come back with a gang of uniformed cops to search the place. After that, the doorman decided Mr. Quimby would be happy to see Frank.

Mr. Quimby had not been consulted, however, and he was actually somewhat less than happy.

“I can’t imagine why the police are involved in this. Does Mr. Van Orner know you’re questioning his wife’s friends?”

They were sitting in a large room with twelve-foot ceilings. Windows stretched up two walls, giving a magnificent view of the city in all its tawdry beauty. The furnishings were heavy and masculine, mostly leather and brass in shades of brown and gold. Frank determined from this that Quimby was a bachelor. He wondered idly if Quimby had ever used a prostitute. He decided not to ask.

“Mr. Van Orner has asked me to investigate his wife’s death,” Frank said, surprising Quimby. “He believes foul play might be involved.”

“Foul play! Miss Yingling’s note gave no indication of any such thing.”

“Did you think a perfectly healthy woman just dropped over dead for no reason?” Frank asked curiously.

Quimby found the question offensive. He was the sort of man who was easily offended, dignified and quietly respectable, well-groomed and well-mannered. “Of course not. I assumed she had taken ill or that she’d had some sort of attack.”

“She died in her carriage on the way home from the rescue house yesterday.”

“Then Miss Yingling will know what happened.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they were always together. Vivian never went anywhere without that girl. I always said I thought she knew more about Vivian’s business than Vivian did.”

“Miss Yingling wasn’t with her.”

“She wasn’t? That’s odd. Where was Mrs. Van Orner going?”

“Home, I understand.”

“Then that doesn’t make any sense at all. Miss Yingling lived with the Van Orners. Why wouldn’t she have gone home with Vivian?”

“Miss Yingling said Mrs. Van Orner was upset and left without her.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That Mrs. Van Orner would leave without her?”

“No, that Mrs. Van Orner would be upset. I’ve known her for ten years, and I’ve never seen her anything other than completely calm and in control of her emotions.”

“She’d had a conversation with that woman Amy, the one with the baby that you rescued a few weeks ago, and another with Mrs. Spratt-Williams. Can you think of anything she might have talked to them about that would have upset her?”

“Of course not. Well, I can’t actually speak for the girl, I’m afraid. I only saw her very briefly the day we rescued her from that house where she worked. I haven’t seen her since, although Mrs. Spratt-Williams mentioned the other day when I saw her at church that she wasn’t doing very well. Many of them don’t, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Frank said. “Why is that?”

“I’ve never understood it myself,” he admitted. “You’d think they’d be so glad to be freed from their horrible bondage that they’d be grateful for whatever they received. Not all of them are, though. They don’t like wearing cast-off clothes, and they get bored with the simple pleasures of ordinary life. Some of them are addicted to drink or opiates, and they get surly when we don’t allow them to indulge anymore. But the worst trouble comes when we tell them they must find a job and learn to support themselves.”

“Are they lazy?”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. They just can’t be satisfied with the frugal lives they must lead. Jobs for women don’t pay very well, I’m afraid. Most employers assume the girls live with their families and are just helping out until they find husbands. As soon as they marry, they have to quit their jobs and make room for the next batch of girls. No one expects them to support themselves on what they can earn in a factory, but these girls have to.”

“I see. That would be discouraging.”

“You have no idea. The work is hard, too, which is another deterrent. After a few months, many of the girls are back on the street, trying to supplement their meager incomes. Word always gets back to their employers, and they lose the factory job, and then . . . Well, they must go back to their old lives or starve. I don’t know what the answer is.”

“Better-paying jobs for women would help,” Frank said.

Quimby must not have heard him. “So you see, Vivian was used to the girls at the house complaining. She wouldn’t have been surprised by that, much less upset by it.”

“What about her conversation with Mrs. Spratt-Williams?”

Quimby made a little grunting sound of disgust. “They were always squabbling about something, the way women do.”

This piqued Frank’s interest. “Anything in particular?”

“Oh, Antonia—that’s Mrs. Spratt-Williams—she was always trying to ignore the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The rules we abide by as tenants in the United Charities Building.”

“What rules did she ignore?”

“She didn’t like reporting the women we helped. They keep track, you know. All the charities keep a list of the people they help so nobody can get help from more than one charity. Antonia didn’t think that was right, but she could never convince Vivian. We had to abide by the rules whether we liked them or not.”

So, nothing to inspire a murder there. Frank moved on. “Did you know this girl Amy claimed that a man named Gregory had fathered her baby?”

From the look on his face, he hadn’t. “Good God! Did Vivian know that?”

“I believe this Amy made a point of telling her. She named the baby after him.”

Quimby sucked in his breath with a hiss.

“Do you think it’s possible Mr. Van Orner really was the baby’s father?” Frank asked.

The color rose in Quimby’s plain face. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because rumor has it that Mrs. Van Orner started her rescue house because her husband liked to visit prostitutes.”

“I don’t know anything about that. Vivian knew my interests lay in helping the less fortunate citizens of our fair city, and she asked me to help her. She said God had laid it on her heart to help these fallen sisters, and I didn’t question her further about her motivation.”

“But you knew about Mr. Van Orner.”

He pressed his lips together until they were white. “I have heard rumors,” he finally admitted.

“So you think it’s possible Van Orner fathered Amy’s baby?”

“The girl worked in a brothel. How could she possibly know?”

“I have no idea, but she might’ve made that claim to Mrs. Van Orner. Do you think that would have upset her enough to make her leave without Miss Yingling?”

“I’m sure it could have, although as I said, it’s difficult for me to imagine Vivian getting upset over anything.”

“What about something Mrs. Spratt-Williams might’ve said?”

“Good heavens, no. They were the closest of friends.”

“You just said they argued all the time.”

“I believe I said they squabbled. They weren’t fishwives. They didn’t argue. They simply disagreed on that one issue. I hardly see what any of this has to do with Vivian’s death. You haven’t even said what kind of foul play was involved.”

“We think she was poisoned.”

“Poisoned! Are you insane? Who would have poisoned her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

He considered this for a moment. “Well, I can assure you it wasn’t Mrs. Spratt-Williams.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because ladies might disagree, but they never argue and they never, ever poison each other.”

SARAH LOOKED AT MRS. SPRATT-WILLIAMS. “ARE YOU sure no one knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s flask except Miss Yingling, her husband, and you?”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure at all. “Of course, I can’t speak for her servants. Servants know so much more than we ever tell them, don’t they? I suppose they can’t help overhearing and seeing things, no matter how careful we try to be.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Sarah said, hoping to encourage her. “Some of her servants may have known.”

“Her maid would have, I’m sure. We can’t hide anything from our maids.”

“No, we can’t,” Sarah agreed, remembering the days so long ago when she’d had a maid.

“Servants can take offense, too,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams confided. “I’ve seen it happen. They can be spiteful and vengeful over the slightest little things.”

“Was Mrs. Van Orner harsh with her servants?”

“Oh, no, not at all. But if one of them took a notion . . . Well, I’m sure she never did anything intentionally, but you know how they are.”

Sarah tried to imagine a maid, having been chastened for not dusting thoroughly enough, pouring a bottle of laudanum into her mistress’s liquor bottle. She decided not to tell Mrs. Sprat-Williams how ridiculous that would be. “Could anyone else at the rescue house have known about Mrs. Van Orner’s little vice?”

Mrs. Spratt-Williams thought this over carefully. Sarah tried to figure out why she needed to do this. Was she trying to fairly judge who might have discovered Mrs. Van Orner’s secret? Did she know someone had and was she trying to decide whether to betray that person? Or was she thinking about something else entirely? “As I said, Vivian never let anyone see her drinking from her flask, but she was always leaving her purse lying about. Someone might have opened it, looking for money or what have you, and found the flask. Even a simpleton could figure out what it was for.”

“Did she leave her purse lying about yesterday?”

Mrs. Spratt-Williams opened her mouth to reply and caught herself. “I was going to say yes, because that’s what she usually did, but I didn’t really notice,” she said after a moment. “I’m sure Miss Biafore would know.”

“Do you know where she usually left her purse?”

“In the hall, on the table. Anyone could have found it there.”

She was right, of course. “Do you remember seeing her purse when you met with Mrs. Van Orner in her office?”

“No, I don’t. It must have been out in the hall, as usual.”

“So you asked her not to turn Amy out of the house and then you left? Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is. I had an engagement that evening, and I needed to get home.”

“Do you think your suggestion made Mrs. Van Orner angry?”

She had to think this over, too. “I wouldn’t say angry. Vivian was impatient with me. Yes, that’s it. She didn’t want to discuss Amy. I can’t say I blame her, but really, I was only trying to help.”

“Did Mrs. Van Orner speak with anyone else after you left her?”

“I have no idea. I already told you, I went home. This is all so distressing. Poor Vivian. I don’t know what we’ll do without her.”

“I hope you’ll decide soon. The women living at the rescue house are very worried.”

“I’m sure they are, especially poor Amy. Of course she may not be as concerned now that Vivian is dead.”

“She isn’t concerned at all. She packed up this morning and left.”

MR. QUIMBY HADN’T BEEN MUCH HELP, SO FRANK wasn’t expecting Mr. Porter to be either. He was surprised to find him living in a ramshackle house south of Washington Square, in a once fashionable neighborhood that was slowly changing over into rooming houses. A harried maid answered the door, and she didn’t seem at all disturbed to find a police detective asking for her master.

As he waited in the front hall for the girl to announce him, he could hear childish screams and lots of thumping coming from upstairs. After a few moments, a man with thinning hair and a thickening waist came hurrying down the hall from a rear parlor, pulling his suit coat over an unbuttoned vest.

“Mary said you’re with the police,” he said in alarm when he reached Frank. “Has something happened?”

“I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Vivan Van Orner died under suspicious circumstances yesterday,” Frank said.

Porter blinked several times, trying to make sense of Frank’s statement. “I knew she died, but nobody said it was suspicious. Miss Yingling should have warned us!”

“She didn’t know,” Frank said.

A loud crash from upstairs made both men jump.

“The children are getting ready for bed,” Porter explained. “Let’s go into the parlor.”

This was the formal parlor, reserved for guests and kept in pristine condition, even though the furnishings were starting to show their age. No fire had been laid, and a distinct chill hung in the air. Porter offered Frank a chair by the cold fireplace and took one opposite.

“What’s this about Mrs. Van Orner now?” he asked, leaning forward. “There must be some mistake.”

“No mistake, I’m afraid. Mrs. Van Orner died in her carriage yesterday afternoon as she was traveling from the rescue house to her home.”

Porter shook his head, his expression inexpressibly sad. “Miss Yingling just told us she died. I couldn’t imagine why. I still can’t believe it. She was never sick a day in her life.”

“Have you known her all her life?”

“Oh, yes. Our families were great friends. We saw each other in church and at parties, everywhere really.” He shook his head, lost in memories.

Frank couldn’t help comparing the Van Orner home to this one and wondering why, if their families had been so close, Porter’s position in life was now so much less prosperous than the Van Orners’. “Did you ever court Mrs. Van Orner?” he asked, probing to see if he could find some romantic rivalry that might have soured through the years.

He looked up in surprise. “Heavens, no! We were children together. Nothing kills romance quicker than remembering how somebody looked in short pants. Besides, Vivian had higher aspirations. Once Van Orner noticed her, no one else had a chance.”

“How did you get involved in her charity work?”

“She asked me to help her several years ago. She needed some men to go with her into a bad part of town. I told her I wouldn’t be much help if she was set upon by ruffians, but she wasn’t concerned about that. As it turned out, she needed a man to knock on the door of a brothel and pretend to be a customer. She thought I would be perfect for that, and as it turned out, she was right. I’ve been helping her ever since.” He seemed very pleased with himself.

“I understand Mrs. Van Orner used her own money to support the rescue house.”

“Yes, she had an inheritance from some relative, I think. She used that for it. Van Orner wouldn’t give her a penny to help harlots. Those were his own words. I’ve heard him say them myself. So she used her own money and asked her rich friends to help her, too.”

“Did you help her?”

He shook his head sadly. “I’ve got six children, Mr .... I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Malloy.”

“Mr. Malloy, I’ve got six children. I inherited my father’s business, but I haven’t been as successful as he was at it. We manage, but . . . To tell you the truth, one reason I agreed to help Vivian was because I thought it might do me some good with Gregory’s friends—that’s her husband.”

“Did it?”

“Oh, no, not at all. Gregory’s embarrassed by her little hobby, as he calls it, and he doesn’t have any use for me or the rest of Vivian’s helpers.”

“But you still kept helping her.”

“Yes. As I said, we’re old friends.” Another crash made them both jump, even though this one was a bit muffled. “And it gives me an excuse to be out of the house,” he added.

Frank could readily understand why.

“Can you think of anyone who might want to harm Mrs. Van Orner?”

“Oh, dear, I almost forgot why you’re here. I keep forgetting Vivian’s dead. She’s the last person in the world you’d expect to die. She had so much still to do, you know. And now you tell me someone . . . Are you telling me someone killed her?”

“It appears that she was poisoned.”

“Good God, you don’t say! I can hardly credit it. Why would someone want to do a thing like that?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me.”

He gave the matter some thought. “Some of the madams were quite angry with her, as you can imagine.”

Frank didn’t have to imagine. He’d seen Mrs. Walker in person. “I don’t think any of them would have had access to her, though.”

“You said she was poisoned. How did it happen?”

“Someone put laudanum in . . . in her drink.”

Mr. Porter stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment, and then his eyes grew wide. “In her flask, you mean? Oh, dear heaven, of course that’s what you mean.”

“You knew about her flask?”

“Oh, yes, we all did. All of us who worked with her, that is. We pretended we didn’t, or at least we never said anything to her about it. Who am I to judge, after all? Any woman who had to live with Gregory Van Orner could be excused for just about anything that helped her through the day.”

Frank’s brief encounter with Van Orner confirmed that opinion. “I know Mrs. Van Orner had made a lot of enemies in the city, but none of them would have had access to her flask yesterday.”

“Oh, my, you’re absolutely right. But that means someone who . . . Are you saying someone in the rescue house poisoned her?”

“Someone who had access to her flask at some time yesterday,” Frank corrected him.

Porter nodded. “I see. So it might have been someone at her home, too.”

“I have to consider all the possibilities. Her husband asked me to investigate, though.”

“He did? I wonder why.”

“Maybe he wants the guilty person punished.”

“So I guess that means he’s not the guilty person. More’s the pity, although I don’t suppose you’d arrest a man like Gregory Van Orner no matter what he did, would you?”

They both knew the answer to that question, so Frank saw no reason to respond. “Do you have any idea who might want to harm Mrs. Van Orner—either in her home or the rescue house?”

“Besides Gregory, I don’t know—not that he really cared enough to murder her, of course, but I’m sure he’s not particularly grieved at her death either. Maybe one of the women we’d rescued. Sometimes they get very angry. Vivian did what she could for them, but she couldn’t keep them forever. They have to learn to make their way in the world.”

“Do you know of one in particular who was unhappy?”

“Not really. I don’t even know who’s living at the rescue house now. I haven’t seen Vivian in over a week, at least.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Oh, no. I’m very busy with my business and my family responsibilities. She only called on me when she had a rescue at a brothel, and that rarely happened, I’m afraid. It’s very dangerous, you see.”

Frank took a chance. “What do you know about Miss Yingling?”

“Miss Yingling? Why do you ask?”

“I just thought it was strange that she lived with the Van Orners.”

Mr. Porter smiled slightly. “I thought it was strange, too, considering the rumors about Gregory.”

“What rumors?”

Porter leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “That he enjoyed the company of harlots.”

“What does that have to do with Miss Yingling?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? Tamar Yingling was the first whore Vivian ever rescued.”

SARAH ARRIVED HOME TO FIND MRS. ELLSWORTH HELPING the girls with supper. They were full of questions about her day spent helping Mr. Malloy, but she couldn’t answer them fully until they’d tucked Catherine into bed for the night.

Sarah took the opportunity to read Catherine a bedtime story. When she came back downstairs, Mrs. Ellsworth and Maeve were sitting around the kitchen table, chatting while they awaited her return.

“I already told Mrs. Ellsworth all about how Mr. Malloy came to get you this afternoon,” Maeve said as Sarah took a seat at the table with them.

“He must have been desperate indeed,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I know how much he hates having you involved in his cases.”

“He wasn’t happy about it this time either, but he needed to question the women who live in the rescue house, and they don’t allow men inside.”

“Is that the place where they take the fallen women after they’ve gotten them out of the brothel?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

“Yes, they let the women stay there for a period of time. I’m not sure how long, but until they can find a job, I suppose.”

“That must be difficult. I mean, if they could find honest work, they wouldn’t have had to sell themselves in the first place.”

“If only everyone understood that,” Sarah said, feeling grateful that she had a friend who was as open-minded as Mrs. Ellsworth. “So many people think these women are immoral or wicked when they’re really just desperate.”

“So did you get in to interview the women?” Maeve asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think I was much help. I did speak with Miss Biafore, the young woman who manages the house, and two of the rescued girls, but the one I really wanted to speak with was Amy, and she’s gone.”

“Gone! Where did she go?” Maeve asked.

“Nobody knows. She just packed up her baby and left.”

“Is this the girl whose baby you delivered?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

“Yes, and I’m very worried about her. I don’t know how she can take care of herself and a child, too.”

“Do you think she’s the one who poisoned Mrs. Van Orner?” Maeve asked. “That would explain why she ran away.”

Sarah had been struggling with the same question all afternoon. “We don’t have any reason to think she did, at least not yet. We do know she and Mrs. Van Orner had some sort of discussion yesterday, and Mrs. Van Orner was upset afterwards, but nobody else knows what they talked about.”

“And a few hours later, Mrs. Van Orner was dead, and Amy has disappeared,” Mrs. Ellsworth mused.

“Exactly. As Maeve pointed out, it doesn’t look good for her.”

The front doorbell rang, and Sarah sighed. She should be happy at the prospect of a delivery. She had a family to support, after all. But she was even happier to see Malloy standing on her front stoop.

“I thought you were coming tomorrow,” she said as he stepped inside.

“I found out something very interesting, and I thought you should know it right away. Hello, Mrs. Ellsworth. Maeve.”

Maeve and her neighbor had come out to see who’d arrived.

Mrs. Ellsworth was equally happy to see Malloy. “It’s always nice to see you, Mr. Malloy. Are you hungry? We can heat up something from supper for you.”

“No, thanks, I already ate. I could use some coffee, though.”

Mrs. Ellsworth insisted on preparing the coffee, and the rest of them sat around the table.

“What did you learn?” Sarah asked as soon as they were settled.

“Before I tell you, did you find out anything interesting from Mrs. Spratt-Williams?”

“Who’s that?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked over her shoulder as she put the coffee on to boil.

“She’s one of Mrs. Van Orner’s helpers. I went to see her this afternoon, too.” Sarah turned back to Malloy. “She told me that she and Mrs. Van Orner were talking about Amy just before Mrs. Van Orner left the house. She said she told Mrs. Van Orner she should be more patient with Amy and not put her out just because she was difficult. Mrs. Van Orner refused to discuss it.”

“That’s all they talked about?”

“That’s what she said, but I had a feeling she wasn’t being entirely truthful with me. I did ask her who knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s drinking habits.”

“Oh, my, this is getting very interesting,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, taking her seat at the table while she waited for the coffee to boil. “Don’t stop to explain, though. Just keep going.”

Sarah thought Malloy wanted to roll his eyes, but he just smiled politely and said, “Who did she say knew?”

“Just herself, Mr. Van Orner, and Miss Yingling.”

“Who is Miss Yingling?” Mrs. Ellsworth whispered to Maeve.

“Mrs. Van Orner’s secretary,” Maeve whispered back.

“More people than that knew about her drinking,” Malloy said, resolutely ignoring Mrs. Ellsworth.

Sarah managed not to smile. “I know. Even Mrs. Spratt-Williams realized it when I challenged her. She allowed that the Van Orners’ servants probably knew, at least her maid.”

“Oh, yes, maids know everything,” Mrs. Ellsworth agreed.

“Mr. Porter knew, too,” Malloy said.

“Who’s Mr. Porter?” Mrs. Ellsworth whispered to Maeve again.

“Another one of Mrs. Van Orner’s helpers,” Malloy answered impatiently, without waiting for Maeve. “He said everybody who worked with her knew about the flask she carried. They never let on, but they all knew.”

“So any one of them could have poisoned her,” Maeve said.

“No, they had to have an opportunity to put the poison in the flask yesterday, too,” Sarah reminded them.

“Why did it have to be yesterday?” Maeve asked.

Everyone looked at her in surprise.

The color bloomed in her fair cheeks at the sudden attention, but she didn’t hesitate. “Just because she drank it yesterday doesn’t mean the killer put it in yesterday. They could have put it in anytime before that, and she just happened to drink it when she did.”

“Maeve is right,” Sarah said. “I guess we’ve been assuming that she drank from the flask every day.”

“Do you know how often she did drink from it?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

Sarah looked at Malloy, who shrugged. “Miss Yingling said she took a drink when she got upset, to calm her down.”

“She smelled of mint the two times I met with her in her office,” Sarah remembered. “She carried peppermints, and she even offered me one. I think she must have used them to cover the smell of the liquor on her breath.”

“It takes more than a peppermint to do that,” Maeve said with authority.

No one asked how she knew this.

“The stuff she carried in her flask was a liqueur that smelled like mint,” Malloy told her.

“It’s called crème de menthe,” Sarah added. “It’s very sweet.”

“I’ve tasted that. It’s delicious,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I can’t imagine gulping it down from a flask, though.”

Sarah smiled. “I’m sure you’d get used to it if you drank it all the time.”

“So you need to find out if she drank every day,” Maeve said. “And who could’ve put the poison in her flask.”

“According to everyone I talked to, anyone at the rescue house could have done it, since she usually left her purse lying on the hallway table. And now,” Sarah added with growing dismay, “it looks like anyone at her home could have done it and maybe other people as well. We don’t know where she might have been in the days before she died.”

“What kind of poison was it?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

“Laudanum,” Malloy said.

“Oh, my, anyone could have gotten hold of that, too.”

“We found an empty bottle of it at the rescue house,” Sarah said.

Malloy shook his head. “That doesn’t prove anything. Every house in the city probably has a bottle that’s at least half-empty.”

“Including the Van Orners,” Sarah said. “Oh, the coffee’s boiling over.”

Maeve jumped up before Mrs. Ellsworth could.

“Could her husband have poisoned her?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked as Maeve started to fill the cups the older woman had set out.

“He’s the one who told me to find her killer,” Malloy said. “I doubt he would’ve done that if he was the killer.”

“Her servants, then?” Mrs. Ellsworth suggested. “Or somebody else who lives at her house?”

“Miss Yingling lives there,” Sarah recalled.

“Why would she want to kill Mrs. Van Orner, though? She’d lose her job,” Maeve said, setting cups in front of Malloy and Mrs. Ellsworth.

Sarah tried to think of a reason. “Maybe Mrs. Van Orner had learned something bad about her and was going to let her go. Maybe she was even going to make a scandal and ruin her reputation.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Ellsworth agreed eagerly as Maeve set down cups for Sarah and herself. “Oh, wait, that one was for Mrs.—” She seemed to catch herself and set about vigorously stirring her own coffee.

Maeve gave her an odd look, then sat down and picked up the spoon from her own saucer. “Oh, look,” she said in feigned surprise. “I have two spoons. Doesn’t that mean I’m going to get married soon, Mrs. Ellsworth?”

Mrs. Ellsworth also feigned surprise, but since she’d set out the cups and spoons, nobody imagined for a moment that she was. She’d obviously meant the two spoons to go to Sarah. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d tried to “arrange” a superstition for her. “Well, yes, it can mean that. It can also mean you’re going to marry twice, so I hope you don’t feel you must hurry to find a beau.”

Sarah covered her mouth to hide a smile while Malloy looked on, completely bewildered by the exchange. She wasn’t about to explain it to him. “So where were we? Oh, yes, we decided that Mrs. Van Orner was going to ruin Miss Yingling and she was desperate to save herself. She was afraid she might end up in a brothel like those other girls, so she had to kill Mrs. Van Orner.”

“I see,” said Maeve. “And if she killed Mrs. Van Orner before she told anyone about Miss Yingling, someone else would give her a job after Mrs. Van Orner died.”

Malloy sighed in exasperation. “That’s fine except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Sarah asked.

“Miss Yingling was a prostitute herself.”

“What!” all three women cried in unison.

“Who told you that?” Sarah asked in amazement.

“Mr. Porter. She was the first prostitute Mrs. Van Orner rescued. That’s what I came here to tell you.”