Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) (29 page)

When the children had settled down, Sarah helped Maeve herd them back upstairs.

“How did your visit with the French lady go?” Maeve asked after the children had run on ahead.

“Very well. We found out some interesting information.”

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“And I can’t wait to tell Malloy what we’ve learned. Is he home yet?”

“No, he’s not. He telephoned to say he wouldn’t be having supper with us tonight.”

“Why not?”

“He’s meeting someone for dinner.”

“Did he say who it was?”

“Yes, that Professor Pelletier.”

F
rank hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the tavern Pelletier had sent him to was a perfectly respectable place where family men obviously went to drink without worrying about being robbed or getting into a fight. A rotund German and his equally stout wife ran the place, and they poured him a beer almost before he sat down at one of the tables.

Business was slow tonight. The dropping temperatures were probably keeping people home. He’d expected Pelletier to be waiting for him, but he saw no familiar faces at all among the handful of customers. Frank sipped the beer, but decided he wanted coffee to warm him up instead. He told the waitress he was waiting for someone and that they’d order dinner when his friend arrived.

Earlier customers had left newspapers behind, so he occupied himself by scanning them, stopping every now and then
to read a story. Each time the door opened, he looked up, expecting to see Pelletier, but the man never appeared.

“I think your friend is not coming,” the German said after a while. “Maybe the cold is too much for him.”

“Maybe it is.” Frank’s stomach growled, reminding him Pelletier had promised they would eat. “In any case, I’m tired of waiting for him. Can you bring me some supper?”

The dish being served that night was a thick stew, so Frank enjoyed a bowl of it, along with another beer. When he was finished, he checked his watch and realized over two hours had passed since he’d told Pelletier he’d meet him in one hour. Pelletier had only been coming from a few blocks away, so he had either been detained or changed his mind about coming.

Frank had traveled all the way up to Morningside Heights for a second time that day in the bitter cold and this time for nothing at all. He paid his bill and bundled up, pulling on gloves and winding a scarf around his neck. Then he set out for the unpleasant trip home.

Although it wasn’t late, the streets were fairly empty, probably because of the cold. People would be sheltering their horses as best they could and huddling in their homes until the morning sun brought the temperatures back up a bit. Frank paused a moment outside the tavern and looked up and down the street, just in case Pelletier happened to be running down the street in a frantic effort to catch him before he left. But he saw no one running or hurrying or even the least bit interested in him.

With another sigh, he started down the street toward the nearest El station. He’d taken only a few steps when he heard someone calling. He stopped to listen. There it was again.

“Malloy!”

The call was weak, as if the person were sick or injured.
He looked around, trying to decide from what direction it had come. The cold and the buildings distorted sounds.

“Here,” the voice called again. “Across the street. Hurry, please.”

This was definitely someone hurt. Frank headed across the street, moving carefully over the cobbles so he didn’t twist an ankle and fall in the darkness. The shadows lay thick in front of the storefronts, closed now, their windows black.

“Where are you?” he called, his words making tinny echoes.

“In here. Can’t walk,” the voice called.

It seemed to be coming from the alley that ran between two of the stores. Could it be Pelletier? Had someone waylaid him on his way to their meeting and tried to kill him as well?

“Pelletier?” he tried.

“
Oui,
please help!” He sounded desperate.

Wishing for a light, Frank entered the alley, moving slowly and stepping carefully. The meager light from the streetlamps faded quickly as he moved down the narrow passage. “Where are you?”

He jumped at a skittering sound before he realized it was a rat racing away from him. The stench of garbage and dung clogged his nose, making him wish he hadn’t eaten so much stew. “Where are you, Pelletier?”

Just as he took another step, he heard a slight scraping behind him. Before he could turn, something swept quickly, softly, across his face and tightened around his neck.

*   *   *

S
arah let herself back into the house quietly, so Catherine wouldn’t hear. She didn’t want the children to know she’d been out and wonder why.

Maeve jumped up from where she’d been sitting beside the telephone in the foyer. “Any word?”

“I sent a telegram to Gino’s parents’ house, but the telegraph operator told me it was foolish to wait for an answer that might not come. They’ll bring it right over if it does. I gave them a nice tip and promised an equally large one for a delivery.”

“I’ve been telephoning the office every fifteen minutes, but there’s still no answer.”

“No, I’m sure Gino left, and he probably went home. He’ll telephone as soon as he gets my telegram, I’m sure.”

“Or finds Mr. Malloy, if he knows where he was meeting this professor,” Maeve said. “Or come over here, if he doesn’t. We’re probably worrying for nothing. If they’re meeting for a meal, they’ll be in a public place, after all.”

“But Malloy won’t know he might be meeting with a murderer,” Sarah said.

“And the professor doesn’t have any reason to harm Mr. Malloy,” Maeve pointed out reasonably.

“You’re right, of course,” Sarah said, taking off her coat and hat and gloves and savoring the warmth of the house.

“Mrs. Malloy and the children already ate supper while you were out, but Velvet is keeping ours warm.”

“I don’t think I could eat a bite,” Sarah said.

“Just try. It’ll give you something to do while you’re waiting, at least.”

Their cook was only too happy to dish up their supper, and Hattie served them in the breakfast room because Sarah didn’t want to sit in the giant dining room with just the two of them. She managed only a few mouthfuls. She noticed that Maeve didn’t seem very hungry either.

“Are you sure this professor is the killer?” Maeve asked.

“Not positive, of course, but the more I think about it, the more I think we missed some important clues. Irene Raymond had told me that Abigail said she’d discovered a scandal. It concerned one person at the school, and people
would be shocked. She also said that President Hatch would have to take some action.”

“If this professor was just pretending to be French all these years, then that would fit everything she said.”

“I know. I feel like such a fool for not realizing it before.”

“How could you, though? Without the information in the letters, I mean. Abigail herself didn’t take any action until she got the final letter. You said that was only a few days before she died.”

“It had to have been. That would fit with all the other things we know, too. She had an argument with Miss Wilson the day before she died. She was going to reveal something scandalous about someone at the school, and Miss Wilson was trying to stop her.”

“Did she tell Miss Wilson what it was, do you think?”

“Miss Billingsly and Bathsheba didn’t think so, and Miss Wilson might’ve thought she was the one who was going to be humiliated.”

“Imagine how upset Miss Wilson would’ve been to think that Abigail was going to betray her.”

“She must have been terrified,” Sarah agreed. “If only Abigail had told Miss Wilson who was really involved. Maybe Miss Wilson could have advised her on how to handle the situation better.”

“She could hardly have handled it worse than ending up murdered,” Maeve said.

Sarah was just about to agree when the shrill ring of the telephone pierced the stillness of the house.

*   *   *

F
rank instinctively grabbed for his throat while his brain scrambled to make sense of what was happening.
The figure behind him jerked harder and the constriction on his neck increased, pulling him up onto his toes while his gloved fingers clawed desperately at the fabric at his throat.

He tried to cry out but no sound could escape. Some tiny, still-functioning part of his brain reminded him that this was how Miss Wilson had died. What had he thought she could have done to save herself?

She couldn’t have done much, but he was bigger and stronger and he began to thrash around, swinging his elbows to strike his assailant. His elbows hit only air, but his assailant lost his grip for a moment, and Frank caught a gasp of air before the noose tightened again. His toes struggled for purchase on the slick cobbles, desperate for a foothold he could use for leverage. But his slipping jerked his attacker off-balance, too. He staggered, loosening his grip again, and Frank lunged forward, carrying his attacker with him.

Both men fell into the inky blackness with a thud. Pain exploded somewhere, but Frank had no time to register where. His attacker was moving again, trying to escape now, but Frank grabbed a handful of his coat with one hand and drove his other fist blindly into the body, eliciting a grunt of pain.

“Mr. Malloy, where are you?” Gino’s voice called, frantic.

“Here!” he replied, driving home another punch. This one went to his attacker’s face and something crunched beneath his fist.

Pelletier cried out and tried to fight back, but Gino was suddenly there. He needed a few seconds to sort out who was who in the darkness, but then he ended the fight with a single blow.

“What did you do?” Frank asked when he realized Pelletier had gone limp.

“Blackjack,” Gino said.

*   *   *

H
ours after Malloy’s telephone call informing her he’d be even later than he’d thought, when he had finally returned home, Sarah had installed Malloy upstairs in their private sitting room and allowed Maeve and Gino to join them. She’d stripped him out of his filthy clothes, which were ruined from rolling around in the garbage-filled alley, and bandaged his injured knee and a few other abrasions and brought him a hot toddy. In fact, all of them were enjoying hot toddies as they shared the day’s adventures. Sarah was sure that Malloy’s encounter with Pelletier had been harder on her than it had been on him.

“So it looks like your French lady was right,” Malloy said when Sarah had told them what Madame de Béthune had said. “Pelletier told us everything when we got him to the police station.”

“The cops up in Morningside Heights weren’t too happy to see us,” Gino said. “But then we told them they could take all the credit for arresting Pelletier, so they cheered right up.”

“How generous of you,” Sarah said.

“As long as Hatch and the Northrups know we were responsible, that’s all that matters,” Malloy said.

“So how did Pelletier get the idea to pretend he was French?” Maeve asked.

“He’d been trying to earn a living as a tutor and not having much luck,” Malloy said. “He’d always been pretty good at French, so he tried getting a job teaching that, but nobody wanted to hire him. Someone at some school made a remark that if he were French, he could get a job easily, since Americans love France so much. But that’s only because they haven’t been there,” Malloy added to Gino and Maeve, making them smile.

“So he started using that phony accent,” Gino said, continuing the story. “It was pretty easy, I guess, so long as he avoided real French people.”

“But he had to invent some kind of life story, I guess,” Sarah said.

“Yes, people kept asking him where he was from, so he chose this little town nobody ever heard of,” Malloy said.

“And his plan worked beautifully for years, until Abigail came along,” Sarah said.

“He’s still furious at her,” Gino said. “Do you know what he’s the maddest about, though? He’s mad because she said he was a bad teacher. She told him how real French people couldn’t even understand her, and it was his fault for pretending to be French and not being able to speak it properly.”

“So I suppose she must have confronted him when she got the letters from France telling her they never heard of him in the town where he was supposed to have been born,” Sarah said.

“Yes. She was going to go straight to Hatch that morning, I gather, but he wasn’t available,” Frank said. “She had to wait all day, but I guess her secret was just too exciting and she couldn’t help letting something slip to Pelletier.”

“Why were they outside in the gazebo, though?” Maeve asked. “They shared an office, so why not just talk there?”

“Pelletier had an idea of what she was going to say,” Gino said. “He knew she’d been to the town, after all. And they couldn’t have a private conversation in their office. Students were always coming and going, and they couldn’t close the door when they were in there together.”

“Oh yes, for propriety’s sake,” Sarah said.

“That’s right. They’re very strict about that at the school. So he suggested they go outside to the gazebo. Nobody would overhear them there,” Gino said.

“I think Pelletier thought he could talk Abigail out of betraying him,” Malloy said. “That’s what he was hoping, anyway, but she refused.”

“Her sense of right and wrong wouldn’t allow her to forgive him,” Sarah said.

“He claims he didn’t mean to kill her,” Gino said. “He cried like a baby when he told us that part. He just saw his whole life ruined. He’d lose his career and be laughed out of the city. He was so furious, he doesn’t even remember picking up the screwdriver. He said he just wanted to make her stop smiling so smugly at him. And then she was dead.”

“Or so he says,” Malloy said. “Who knows what really happened, and it doesn’t matter. He killed her.”

“Did he kill Miss Wilson, too?” Maeve asked.

Malloy nodded.

“But why?” Maeve asked.

“He said she figured out that he killed Abigail,” Gino said. “We’re not sure how, though.”

“It may have had something to do with the ring,” Sarah said.

“What ring?” Maeve asked.

“You remember, Abigail was wearing a ring on a chain around her neck when she died. We found out that Miss Wilson had given it to her because she was in love with her. She didn’t know Abigail was wearing it until I told her, though. Until then, she probably believed—and feared—that Abigail was going to betray her to President Hatch, but when she found out Abigail was wearing the ring, she realized Abigail loved her in return. That may have gotten her thinking about who else Abigail might know something about.”