Whispers Beyond the Veil (16 page)

M
rs. Stickney, I am so sorry for your loss,” Yancey said as he studied the newly minted widow as she sat opposite him in the parlor. He had been sorely tempted to send a lower-ranking officer to break the news to her. He dreaded the look he was sure he would see on Mrs. Stickney's face. The same one his mother had the night Chief Hurley delivered the news about his father's death. He was surprised to observe Mrs. Stickney looked far less stricken and bereft than his mother had. “I assure you we will do everything we can to discover who did this to your husband.”

“He's in a better place, Officer.” Mrs. Stickney offered a weak smile. “How I envy him. For now he is reunited with our dear little boy.”

“I'm glad you're able to take comfort in that, Mrs. Stickney.” Yancey didn't put any faith in such things himself but he could see how in times of distress the notion of an afterlife held appeal for others. “If you feel up to it I have some questions about your husband.”

“Must you press my aunt now, Officer? Surely this could
wait?” Sanford Dobbins blinked at him through his spectacles as he leaned against the back of his aunt's chair, his slim hand drooping over her shoulder. Yancey imagined it to be unpleasantly moist.

“Of course he must ask now, Sanford,” Mrs. Stickney said. “I consider it my duty to assist you with your inquiries but I cannot imagine what I could tell you about local criminals.”

“I'm interested in your husband's movements over the last day or so.”

“There is very little I can tell you, I'm afraid.” Mrs. Stickney pursed her lips and Yancey wondered if she was considering not saying another word. “We spent little time together as a general rule and this trip was no exception.”

“Let's start with something you might know. When did the three of you arrive at the Belden?”

“We didn't travel together. He arrived at the hotel yesterday. Sanford and I took a train the day before.” Mr. Dobbins nodded in agreement.

“But you knew he had arrived?”

“Yes, he knocked on my door shortly before dinner to tell me he was here and that he had made appointments with several hotel practitioners. He also let me know he made other plans for dinner and would not be joining me. Is it any wonder I have come to depend so on my dear Sanford?” She reached up and squeezed his hand.

“And how about yourself, Mr. Dobbins? Did you see your uncle after he arrived?”

“I did not.”

Yancey wished he could avoid the next question but there was
no way in good conscience he could do so. “I don't wish to seem indelicate but I have to ask if you know how late he was out.”

“I could not say.” Mrs. Stickney flushed and dropped her gaze to her lap. “My husband and I have preferred separate bedrooms ever since our son died more than ten years ago.”

“So you have no way to know if he returned to the hotel last night?”

“Our rooms are adjoining but I heard nothing from his. Usually, he does have the good grace to let me know he has returned at the end of the evening. Last night, he did not.”

“Did you check on him this morning?”

“I did. I opened the connecting door between our rooms to remind him that he had an important appointment at ten and needed to be up and breakfasted before then.”

“I assume he was not there?”

“Not only was he not, it was clear to me his bed had not been slept in. I was alarmed and went in search of Miss Belden to inquire if she had seen him that morning.”

“And had she?”

“She said she had not seen him since before dinner yesterday evening. I left her making inquiries of her staff and went in search of Sanford to accompany me to breakfast.” Mr. Dobbins nodded again.

“It's horrid to think we were enjoying toast and jam while Uncle Leander lay dead.”

“Was Miss Belden able to ascertain the last time your husband had been seen by the staff?”

“I haven't spoken with her since.”

Mrs. Stickney sagged against her chair. Despite her lack of
tears she had endured a shock. Yancey decided it best to hurry the interview along.

“I have only a couple more questions.” Yancey slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a leather drawstring pouch. He tugged it open and held the contents out for her to inspect. “Just as a matter of identification, is this your husband's watch?” Mrs. Stickney drew in her breath audibly and reached out her hand. She ran her fingers over the back of the watch and then down the chain.

“It certainly looks like his watch except for one thing.” She looked into Yancey's eyes. “It's missing the fob.”

“But you are sure the watch is his?”

“I am. I gave it to him myself as a gift.”

“Can you describe the fob?”

“It was a miniature balance scale fashioned from gold. The pans on either side were set with a small pile of jewels. Amethysts on one and garnets on the other.”

“Do you recall having seen it on his person when he left last night?”

“I did. He made a show of checking his watch quite pointedly when I mentioned how much I wanted him to accompany me to the dining room. He always fiddled with it when he found conversations to be unpleasant.”

“And the fob was there then?”

“Yes, it was. His waistcoat buttons were straining against his girth and he kept plucking the fob from the gap between the top two. Most unbecoming. I told him he needed to either start a slimming regime or make an appointment with his tailor.”

“So he could have been robbed?” Mr. Dobbins asked.

“It is one possibility we are investigating.”

“Did you check his pockets when you found him?” Mr. Dobbins asked. “He always carried a billfold with some cash.”

“His money was in his jacket pocket.”

“What about his silver cigarette case?” Mrs. Stickney asked. “He never went anywhere without that in his coat pocket.”

“We didn't find that amongst his possessions. Was there anything unusual about the case that might help us identify it if it turns up?”

“It was engraved ‘To Stickler from Battler.' It was a gift from a school friend who was in the debate club with my husband. Those were their nicknames for each other.”

“You mentioned Mr. Stickney had an appointment this morning,” Yancey said. “Do you know with whom?”

“The astrologer, Mrs. MacPherson,” Mrs. Stickney said. “And after lunch he was to have a sitting with Miss Proulx.”

Yancey rose. “Thank you both for your time. You've been most helpful. I'll do my best to intrude on you as little as possible as the investigation proceeds.”

•   •   •

O
fficer Yancey, might you spare me a moment of your time?” Miss Howell stepped out from the doorway of the ladies' writing room with such exquisite timing Yancey could only assume she had lain in wait for him.

While Yancey did not consider himself the sort of man to attract enthusiastic hordes of unattached young ladies he did know when he was being pursued. Miss Howell definitely had a reason for seeking his company but he was not sure if it was for a personal matter or a professional one. He wasn't even sure which he would prefer.

After all, she was a pretty and well-spoken blonde with a pert nose and a fine figure. Although she would have to disavow the psychic nonsense to really turn his head. There were enough true believers in his family without looking to add to the problem. Miss Howell latched on to his arm and steered him down the hallway to a window seat that looked purposely built for cozy private chats. She lowered herself onto the firm cushion and pulled him down beside her with a surprisingly athletic grip.

“How can I be of assistance?” Yancey removed his notebook from his jacket pocket. Perhaps she would understand his interest was professional if he acted like one.

“Perhaps I should not speak up but my conscience and my commitment to my gifts would not allow me to remain silent concerning Mr. Stickney's death.” Miss Howell looked like a cat about to lick the cream from her whiskers. “I hate to say anything disloyal about another member of staff, but keeping secrets is sure to interfere with the hotel's spiritual vibrations, which will undermine all that Honoria has worked so hard to achieve.” Yancey never failed to be surprised at how quickly news spread about an investigation. By the end of the day he was willing to bet everyone in Old Orchard would have heard some version of what had happened.

“I understand you have the very best of intentions,” Yancey said. “Getting to the truth about what happened to Mr. Stickney is in the interests of everyone concerned.”

“If you really think I ought, I shall tell you all I know.” Miss Howell leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Mr. Stickney was no ordinary guest.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“His wife had a sitting with me yesterday. She wanted me to read the energy of a toy soldier that had belonged to her son.”

“How does this relate to Mr. Stickney's death?”

“I'm getting to that. I was able to tell her all about her little boy, the sorts of things he liked and how happy he was in the hereafter. She was so pleased with my help.” Miss Howell cast her gaze to the floor. Yancey thought she was trying to appear modest but was unaware she was failing entirely.

“I'm sure she was extremely grateful.”

“She was overjoyed to have found me and told me she was so relieved to know I was a practitioner with genuine gifts. And she would know.”

“Is Mrs. Stickney an expert on such matters?”

“Her husband was. He was the president of the Northeastern Society for Psychical Research.”

“Which is what, pray tell?”

“It's the foremost organization in New England for investigating the legitimacy of all manner of otherworldly phenomena and practices.”

“Mrs. Stickney told you this?”

“She didn't have to tell me. Everyone in the spiritual community is familiar with the organization. Most would recognize Mr. Stickney's name. But she did tell me something else that I didn't already know.”

“Which was?”

“Mr. Stickney had booked at the hotel with the sole intention of scrutinizing every practitioner in the establishment. He planned to devote his organization's entire fall quarterly magazine to his findings.”

“So everyone else at the hotel was aware of the nature of Mr. Stickney's business?”

“That's my understanding. Mrs. Stickney said in case someone hadn't heard of him he made it a point of honor to alert practitioners of his aims. More often than not charlatans pulled up stakes and disappeared rather than face the scrutiny.”

“And you think this has something to do with his death?”

“All I can say is that if I were in charge of this investigation I would look very carefully at Miss Proulx.”

“Why would you single out Miss Proulx if he was scrutinizing all the practitioners?”

“Because fraudulent mediums were his particular specialty.” Miss Howell lowered her voice even more. “I think she killed him before he had a chance to expose her. After all, who has more to lose than Miss Proulx or her aunt?”

I
hated to admit it but when Officer Yancey came down the hall I started to perspire. And by perspire I mean I started to sweat like a roustabout hurrying to get the tents tied down before a storm. I considered trying to hide until he tired of searching for me but decided delaying the inevitable would just make things worse.

“Miss Proulx, I'd like a word with you,” he said before taking me by the elbow with more gusto than I felt was strictly necessary. He steered me into the library, which he had commandeered as an outpost of the police station. “Have a seat.”

“How nice of you to offer me comfort in my own home.” In my experience, going on the offensive is often the best way to deal with men in general and policemen in particular.

“Your aunt, naturally, is eager to cooperate with the police in any way she can and has offered the library to me as a sort of sovereign territory. Like an embassy. I think you would be well served to consider yourself lucky that we are not having this conversation at the actual station.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“See that you do. Now, as there is much to do today, I will get straight to the point.”

“Excellent. I shouldn't like you to have to spend any more time in my presence than strictly necessary.” Officer Yancey had the good grace to drop his eyes to his notebook as two spots of color appeared on his clean-shaven cheeks.

“I was thinking of the need for urgency and for your inconvenience, Miss Proulx, not any personal distaste for your company.”

“Whatever your motivations, you must be even busier than we are here at the hotel, so please begin.”

“As you like. Can you think of any reason someone would murder Mr. Stickney?”

I knew in my heart of hearts that the truth about Mr. Stickney's occupation would come out, but I had been telling myself soothing lies ever since his bulging dead eyes had stared up at me from the beach. I'm an optimist, as are all true con artists, and a small part of me had hoped this would all stay hidden. I had been so busy trying to stay calm I hadn't even bothered to make up a story. I fought down the urge to burst out laughing. I had managed to avoid the police in connection with Johnny's death, and here I was being questioned about a murder I had not committed. It was a story so fantastical it would have been right at home as the plot of a dime novel.

I thought back to all the times I'd been in a tight spot before, and the best strategies involved either a stealthy escape or feigning ignorance and waiting to see if the fuss died down and a solution presented itself. After all she had done for me I couldn't run and leave Honoria looking as though her niece was guilty. Delay it would have to be.

“While I have been unfortunately acquainted with one of
your local pickpockets I cannot claim to be an expert on the Old Orchard criminal element. I certainly cannot speak to their motivations.”

“I have good reason to believe Mr. Stickney was not killed by a robbery gone wrong.”

“I have a hard time believing that. After all, everyone says pickpocketing is out of control here now that the pier is almost completed. I've heard Mrs. Doyle say that if something isn't done about them soon there will be more pickpockets on the beach than sand.” I batted my eyelashes at him, but instead of flustering him he just exhaled forcibly through his nose and shook his head.

“Come now, Miss Proulx, if Mr. MacPherson really did locate him because he can find gold with his dowsing rods I'm sure you can see my point.”

I was torn. I am willing to assume almost any role necessary to wriggle out of tight spots and to save my own skin. The only part I won't play is that of helpless female. Feigning ignorance of circumstances or facts was one thing. Appearing dull witted was quite another. In my experience men needed no more reason to assume women should not be allowed to vote, drive, or wear trousers.

“Of course. The gold watch was still on his person.” I tipped my head to the side as if I were considering other possibilities. “But couldn't the thief have been scared off after he realized he had killed Mr. Stickney?”

“You think a brazen criminal would be so scared off he or she would leave a gold watch just lying there?”

“I can imagine circumstances where it might seem the wiser course.”

“Indulge me and explain yourself.”

“If he heard someone coming,” I said, warming to the topic. “Or if he realized the watch were easy to identify. He might not be able to sell it without bringing suspicion of the crime down upon himself.”

“You seem to have deep insight into the minds of criminals. Is there a reason for that?”

“Certainly not. It just seems to fit with human nature to run from the consequences of shameful actions. It is something any man would have been tempted to do.”

“You sound well versed in shouldering guilty burdens, too, Miss Proulx.” I felt my stomach grow cold and my heart thudded around in my chest. I was in over my head. And then the voice spoke in my ear.

“As do we all.”

“There is no one that hasn't experience with that in some form. You, for instance, must have some sort of shadow in your past, something you wish to make right. Why else would you be a policeman?” I could tell from the flicker in his eyes my words had hit a tender spot. I just hoped it would send him packing instead of digging deeper into my history. Then, as quickly as his reaction came, it went, and he was collected and calm once more. But, more important, he redirected the questions.

“I am asking everyone connected with the hotel to share any information they might have as to Mr. Stickney's movements yesterday.”

“I should have thought Mrs. Stickney would be the one to ask about that, not hotel staff.”

“Mrs. Stickney reports not having seen her husband until he notified her he would not be at the hotel for dinner. So you can
see we are interested in what information anyone else has to share.”

Honoria had warned me about the consequences of indiscretion concerning the guests. I decided to trust her instincts and keep what I knew to myself. After all, nothing Officer Yancey had done up until this point had convinced me to abandon a lifelong habit of viewing the police as the enemy.

“Honoria introduced me to Mr. Stickney yesterday about midmorning. I didn't see him again after that.”

“How convenient.” Officer Yancey really was insufferable. Every moment I spent with him convinced me I was right to keep what I knew to myself.

“You make it sound as though I had arranged to avoid him. The hotel and all the obligations it entails kept me very busy throughout the day.”

“You did, however, find time to pay a call on my sister, I hear.” If anything, Officer Yancey's expression grew even grimmer.

“Lucinda invited me to visit her. I wasn't aware the social lives of adult women fell within the purview of the police. Or are things so very different in America than they are in Canada?” I cocked my head to the side and widened my eyes.

“Until this murderer is caught, everything is within the scope of my investigation. Every walk you take, every conversation you have, every snack you sneak from the kitchen in the night is worthy of my scrutiny.”

“Does this rigorous attention apply to everyone or just to me?”

“Everyone in the hotel is being closely questioned but I think I should warn you information has come to light that could point the investigation in your direction.”

“As I only met the man once, and briefly, I am surprised to hear it. What reason could I have to murder him?”

“I am well aware of the nature of Mr. Stickney's business and his real reasons for being here at the Belden. It was a remarkable stroke of luck for you that a psychical investigator should meet his death just hours before he commenced his investigation of you, don't you think?” With that, he flashed me a toothy smile and strode out of the room. I could not have stood if you had lit my chair on fire.

•   •   •

S
everal hours of placating the worried, curious guests had taken its toll on the staff. I had just sunk into a chair in the hall to catch my breath when I heard a noise.

“Psst,” said Mrs. Doyle from a doorway at the end of the corridor. “Follow me.” She beckoned with a broad, red hand and scowl. I looked around, hoping she was motioning to someone else, but I found that I was alone. With all the speed of a small boy headed for a bath I made my way down the hall. She grasped me by the arm and pulled me into the small writing room reserved for the lady guests.

“I've just been speaking with my daughter, Sadie. She's married to a policeman, Frank Nichols.” Mrs. Doyle sank into a chair placed beside an octagonal walnut table and drummed her fingers on its polished top. “Frank told Sadie that he thinks a pickpocket is responsible for Mr. Stickney's murder but Warren Yancey isn't convinced.”

“I got that impression from the way Officer Yancey questioned me this morning,” I said, sitting in the chair opposite her.

“If Yancey can be convinced a pickpocket is responsible he'll
stop looking at the hotel. It's bad enough one of our guests was murdered without it looking like another guest might be responsible for doing him in.”

“And?”

“And, you were the victim of a pickpocket the day you arrived.” Mrs. Doyle leaned across the table and grasped my hand in both of hers. “If you were to go to Yancey and mention the murderous rage in his eyes when he grabbed your valuables it might go a long way to convincing Yancey that the thief has turned murderer.”

“But I saw no such rage.”

“I would not have taken you for someone to trouble herself over such small details.”

“You want me to lie to Officer Yancey?” It was as if the entirety of the cosmos couldn't stand to see me go straight. No matter how I tried to pull myself away from lies and deceptions I kept finding myself pointed down the same disreputable path over and over again. “Even if I wanted to do such a thing, how could I possibly convince him to believe me?”

“The way lovely young women have always made men believe the things they say, by being charming.”

“Officer Yancey does not find me charming in the least. As a matter of fact he ordered me to stay away from his mother and his sister.” I paused to try to add to the indignant tone I hoped was in my voice. “He thinks I am making up my abilities as a medium and even suggested I am on his list of suspects. He wants me to have nothing further to do with his family.”

“But you haven't listened, have you?” She gave me her customary scowling squint, and as always I felt exposed.

“Certainly not. It isn't for him to say with whom two grown women wish to associate.”

“Excellent. Charm takes many forms, and what I've seen from Yancey is that his fancy tends to run toward independent-minded women. For all his fussing over his mother and sister he respects them. He would be less inclined to credit a thing you said if you turned tail and ran as soon as he suggested it.”

“But how will I explain the fact I am coming forward with new information and changing my story at this late date? At the time of the incident I told him I had no recollection of the pickpocket and could not describe him.”

“Memory is a fickle thing. Especially if the victim has suffered a whack to the head. My great-uncle Dickson got on the wrong end of a horse's hoof and didn't know his own name for the better part of a year. We had to take turns watching him so he didn't wander off into the street and get into a tussle with four horse hooves instead of one. Then, one day, for no apparent reason, he was back to normal. Well, except for an aversion to boiled eggs. We never did figure that out.”

“You really think going to the police will help?”

“I am so sure of it I've already sent a note to the police station alerting Yancey of your intention to visit this afternoon to tell him what you know.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me. Now head up and change into something a bit more suited for paying calls and then stop in to the kitchen before you leave. I've a basket of gingerbread for Yancey. He can't resist it and will have much more trouble giving you a hard time once the smell of it is right in front of him.”