Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) (18 page)

Miss Wilson gasped. “Where did you find that?”

“Then you have seen it.”

“Answer me,” she said, angry now. “Where did you find it?”

“Abigail was wearing it on a chain around her neck.”

“When she died? She was wearing it when she died?” Miss Wilson asked, her eyes flooding with tears.

Before Sarah could reply, the parlor door burst open and Miss Billingsly cried, “What’s going on here?”

Miss Wilson sprang to her feet. “Nothing that concerns you, Estelle.”

But Miss Billingsly didn’t even glance at her. She was too busy glaring at Sarah. “What do you want with her? Haven’t you and your husband caused enough trouble?” She came toward Sarah now, her eyes red-rimmed and her cheeks flushed, and Sarah realized she’d been drinking.

Feeling vulnerable, Sarah rose, too, still clutching the handkerchief with the ring in it.

“What’s that?” Miss Billingsly asked. “What have you got there?”

“Nothing,” Miss Wilson said. “Estelle, you aren’t well. You need to—”

“I’m perfectly well. What are you hiding from me?”

Sarah decided to take a chance. “It’s Abigail’s ring.”

Miss Billingsly stopped dead and her whole body stiffened. “Abigail didn’t wear a ring.”

“Not on her hands, but she wore this one on a chain around
her neck. Hidden under her clothing. Have you ever seen it before?” Sarah held it out to her.

“Estelle, this doesn’t concern you,” Miss Wilson tried again, desperate this time, but Miss Billingsly was staring at the ring in horror.

When neither woman spoke, Sarah decided to provoke them. “I thought it looked like an engagement ring.”

Miss Billingsly let out an agonized cry, and for the first time she turned her fierce gaze on Miss Wilson. “You gave it to her, didn’t you? You said it didn’t mean anything, but I knew when you started sleeping in her room—”

“Estelle! Stop it! You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“You gave her a
ring
!” Miss Billingsly nearly screamed, snatching it from Sarah’s hand. “Eighteen years! I lived with you for eighteen years, and she comes along and you give her a
ring
!” She flung the ring at Miss Wilson with a strangled cry. It hit her in the chest and bounced off, but Miss Wilson just stood like a statue, her cheeks crimson.

“Bathsheba!” she called, but the maid was already there.

Bathsheba wrapped her arm around Miss Billingsly. “What’s all this shouting about now? That ain’t no way to act, is it? What kinda example you setting for the young ladies?”

“She gave that girl a
ring
,” Miss Billingsly informed her, tears flooding her eyes and running unchecked down her cheeks as she allowed Bathsheba to lead her away. “And then she killed her!”

Miss Wilson gasped and turned to Sarah. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She . . . she drinks, and you can’t believe anything she says.”

“Of course,” Sarah said, walking over to pick up the ring. “But you did give this ring to Abigail, didn’t you?”

“We were friends. I . . . I loved her dearly.”

Sarah looked at the ring and then back at Miss Wilson’s anguished face. “Did you love her the same way you used to love Miss Billingsly?”

Her expression froze. “I think you should leave now, Mrs. Malloy.”

Sarah agreed. She started to wrap the ring back up in her handkerchief.

“Wait!” Miss Wilson said, reaching for it. “Could I . . . ?”

Sarah tied it up. “I’m afraid not. It could be evidence.”

“Evidence of what? That I loved her?” she asked bitterly.

Sarah tucked it back into her purse. “Did you know a young man had proposed to her?”

Miss Wilson flinched. “She’d refused him. She’d never give herself to a man.” She didn’t sound very confident about it, though.

Sarah smiled sadly. “I think you know she hadn’t refused him. In fact, they were corresponding, and he believed she intended to marry him.”

Miss Wilson shook her head in silent denial, but Sarah could see she knew it was true.

“That must have made you very angry.”

“I didn’t hurt her. I would never have hurt her.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say to that. She picked up her coat and left.

*   *   *

“
S
he actually said Miss Wilson killed Abigail?” Gino asked.

“Yes, but don’t forget, Miss Billingsly had been drinking,” Sarah said. “And she was very upset after seeing the ring.”

“Because Sarah had goaded her by calling it an engagement ring,” Frank added, grinning when she scowled at him. He loved making her scowl.

The three of them had gathered in the Malloys’ formal parlor after supper while Maeve and Mrs. Malloy put the children to bed.

“I admit I was a little harsh with her,” Sarah said. “But it’s so hard to get information out of those two.”

“The real question is, could it be true?” Frank asked. “Could Miss Wilson really have killed Abigail?”

“Why would she, though?” Sarah asked. “She obviously loved her.”

“People kill people they love all the time,” Malloy reminded her. “Don’t forget, this wasn’t a carefully planned murder. This was someone who was probably arguing with Abigail and got so mad he—or she—picked up the first thing that came to hand and jammed it into her face.” Sarah winced, and he was instantly contrite. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re right. This killing was the result of sudden anger.”

Frank continued. “And the question is, did Miss Wilson have a reason to be that angry with Abigail?”

“I’d expect Miss Billingsly would have more reason to be angry,” Gino said. “She’s the one who didn’t like Abigail.”

“And she had good reason to be jealous of her, too,” Frank said.

“Yes, she did,” Sarah said. “You should have seen her face when she realized Miss Wilson had given Abigail a ring.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Gino said. “Why would a woman give another woman a ring?”

Frank and Sarah exchanged a knowing look. “For the same reason a man gives a woman a ring,” he said.

They waited while he worked this through. After a few moments, his eyes grew wide and he said, “Oh.” Then after another moment, he said, “But a woman can’t marry another woman.”

“Only if it’s a Boston marriage,” Sarah said. “Apparently, Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly had that and more. They’d lived together happily for eighteen years, according to Miss Billingsly.”

“Sharing a bedroom, like a married couple,” Frank added, earning another scowl from Sarah. “Well, that’s important, because according to Bathsheba, they’re not sharing a bedroom anymore.”

“And from what Miss Billingsly said, Miss Wilson had been sharing Abigail’s room before she died,” Sarah said.

“Really?” Gino asked in astonishment. “With Miss Billingsly still in the same house and everything?”

“I know. Miss Wilson behaved very badly.”

“But if she loved Abigail, why would she have killed her?” Frank asked, hoping Sarah had the answer.

“Perhaps because she found out Abigail had decided to marry Cornelius Raymond.”

“Did she?” Gino asked.

“We don’t know for sure, but from my conversation with her today, Miss Wilson apparently knew Abigail had a suitor. We do know Abigail hadn’t given Mr. Raymond a definite answer yet, but if she told Miss Wilson she intended to accept him, that probably would have made Miss Wilson furious.”

“So Miss Wilson could have had a reason to kill Abigail,” Frank said.

“And Miss Billingsly could have, too, if she was jealous,” Sarah said. “But she seems certain Miss Wilson did it.”

“Maybe she’s trying to throw suspicion off herself,” Gino said.

“That could be, although she doesn’t seem clever enough to have thought of that,” Frank said.

“She’s a college professor,” Sarah reminded him. “Well, not a full professor, but the next best thing. She’s very intelligent.”

“I didn’t mean she wasn’t smart,” Frank said. “I meant she doesn’t seem devious enough to try to implicate somebody else.”

“So you think Miss Wilson is the more likely killer?” Sarah challenged.

Frank wanted to kiss that smirk off her lovely mouth. If only Gino weren’t there.

“Well, before you arrest Miss Wilson,” Gino said as if prompted, “I should tell you what I found out about Luther and Cornelius Raymond. They were both in the city the day Abigail was killed.”

“How do you know that?” Frank asked.

“Luther keeps a room at the athletic club, and he used it Tuesday night. The club keeps records. He might have an alibi for the day she died, of course, but I haven’t seen him yet to ask him. I went to Tarrytown today to see Cory Raymond, and I found out he doesn’t spend much time working at his father’s business. He also has a room at the athletic club, and the secretary in Tarrytown told me he was in the city last week, and she hinted he’s here now, too.”

“Raymond might also have an alibi,” Frank said.

“I know. I went by the club to see them both this afternoon, when I got back from Tarrytown, but neither of them was in, so I’m going back in the morning early, before they have a chance to go out.”

“Don’t forget, we don’t know exactly when Abigail was killed, so they’ll have to account for several hours,” Sarah said.

“Maybe I should go with you,” Frank said. “They might not be too friendly, and one of them might’ve killed Abigail.”

Gino waved away his concern. “We won’t be alone. The club has hundreds of members.”

“I just wish we knew why Abigail went out to the gazebo in the first place,” Sarah said with a sigh. “Why did she go outside on a cold day when she had an office?”

“And lots of other places inside the school where she could meet people,” Frank said. “When Gino needed to interview students, they had lots of empty rooms.”

“Well, when we find the killer, we’ll ask him,” Gino said.

“Or her,” Frank added.

*   *   *

G
ino found Ledbetter behind the front desk at the New York Athletic Club again the next morning, and this time his smile of greeting was genuine. “Good afternoon, Mr. Donatelli. Still looking for Mr. Northrup?”

“I sure am.”

“Then you’re finally in luck. He’s here. I’ll see if I can find him.”

Gino slipped him another dollar and planted himself in one of the comfortable lobby chairs to wait. He watched with interest as club members came and went. Mr. Malloy had taught him to watch for details, and he studied the way these privileged men conducted themselves. The way they moved and spoke, the way they addressed each other and the help. He might need to know these things if he ever got to be a millionaire like Mr. Malloy.

Gino didn’t think he could ever be as rude to the help as these men, though, not even if he was a millionaire.

To his surprise, both Luther Northrup and Cornelius Raymond got off the elevator and came toward him. They looked like they’d dressed in a hurry, and neither looked happy to see him, but he smiled just the same and rose to greet them.

“What do you want with Luther?” Raymond demanded, although Gino noticed he kept his voice low so none of his wealthy friends would hear.

“I thought I’d come by and let him know what we’ve found out so far about Miss Northrup’s death.”

The two men exchanged a look, but plainly, neither of them could decide how to deal with him.

“Is there a quiet place we could talk?” Gino asked.

“Your room is bigger,” Raymond told Northrup, who nodded.

“Upstairs,” Northrup said and headed back to the elevator.

Gino figured he was supposed to follow, so he did, with Raymond coming along behind.

As the elevator operator took them up, Gino began to have second thoughts about coming to see the men alone. Like Mr. Malloy had said, one of them could be a murderer, and they both seemed pretty angry that he’d had the effrontery to track them down at their club. He hadn’t really expected that.

The elevator operator let them off on a floor with a long corridor with many doors opening off it and nobody else in sight. Gino had a few sobering thoughts about what could happen with no one around to hear and then swallowed his apprehension. He wasn’t afraid of these rich boys, even if one of them had killed a girl.

Or so he told himself.

Luther led the way and opened one of the doors with a key he pulled from his pocket. They entered a comfortably large, if Spartanly furnished, room with a sitting area at one end and a bedroom at the other. The sitting area had two upholstered chairs with a table in between. A small, square dining table sat against the wall with two wooden chairs pushed beneath it. The bed at the other end of the room was unmade and clothing was strewn around. Gino wondered idly if they had maid service to clean up after the residents.

Luther pointed at the upholstered chairs and went to grab one of the wooden chairs for himself. Gino sat down, surprised to find the chair comfortable and waited for Raymond to take the other seat. Luther set the wooden chair down in
front of him with a thump and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back. Then he tried to intimidate Gino with a glare. “All right, detective boy, tell us what you came to tell us.”

Gino managed not to laugh in his face. “There’s no reason to be rude,” he said pleasantly. “I thought you’d be anxious to find your sister’s killer.”

Luther flinched a little at that. At least he understood that he
should
be anxious. Gino glanced at Raymond and saw he was angry, too, but in a quiet, more dangerous way.

“Just tell me who he is,” Raymond said.

“I’m afraid we don’t know who the killer is yet, but—”

“No, tell me who the other man was, the one who gave her that ring.”

“You think she had another suitor?” Gino asked in surprise.

“How else do you explain it? She kept refusing to give me an answer to my proposal and she was hiding a ring that someone else gave her.”

“It seems simple to me, too,” Luther said. “But maybe it’s too simple for you, detective boy.”

Gino managed not to laugh again. Luther really was humorous, trying to be tough. “Actually, it’s not simple at all. We do know who gave her the ring, though.”