“NOW YOU MUST TELL ME,” OPAL INSISTED. “DOES IT have something to do with why you were suddenly taken ill?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, laying the object on the seat beside her so she no longer had to touch it. “It gave me a bit of a shock.”
“More than a bit of one,” Opal said. “I thought you were going to faint.”
Sarah sighed, grateful for the privacy of the carriage, even though Opal had been ostentatious to bring it into the neighborhood. “I didn’t tell you the real reason I became interested in the mission,” she began, and explained to her about Emilia and how she came to be wearing Sarah’s clothes when she was killed in the park. “They didn’t have any idea who the girl was and probably never would have found out, but one of the police detectives recognized the clothes. He asked me to identify the body, if I could.”
“How horrible!” Opal exclaimed. “And how on earth would a policeman recognize your clothes?”
Sarah managed not to feel defensive. “I had met him several months ago when he was investigating another murder. I helped him solve the case.”
Opal wasn’t the least bit satisfied with this explanation. “Are you telling me this policeman remembered your clothes for several months and then recognized them on the dead girl?”
“I think it was the hat he remembered, and no, he didn’t remember it for several months. He’d seen it recently. We… I’ve helped him with several other murder cases since then as well.”
Sarah had expected to see disapproval or even disdain, but Opal simply looked intrigued. “You must tell me all about this policeman and how you got involved in solving murders,” she insisted. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of anything so interesting!”
Sarah supposed it was interesting, but just then she realized they were passing Police Headquarters. “Could you ask your driver to stop here for a moment?” she asked anxiously. “I need to leave Detective Sergeant Malloy a message while we’re here.”
Opal looked out the window at the imposing four-story, marble-fronted building with the fanlight over the arched doorway that read NEW YORK POLICE HEADQUARTERS.
“Oh, my,” she said with a smile, signaling her driver to stop. “I really will have something amazing to tell Charles tonight when he asks me how my day was.”
Frank tried to remember back to the time before he’d met Sarah Brandt. Surely, he hadn’t been angry all the time then. He would’ve had apoplexy long before now if he had been. No, he was sure he had never been this angry for this long in his entire life. And he was definitely going to have to forbid her to leave him any more messages at Mulberry Street, or he’d have to quit the force and become a street cleaner. As it was, nobody there could look at him without smirking.
Could a man be henpecked when he wasn’t married? Frank didn’t think he wanted to know.
As if things weren’t bad enough, Mrs. Ellsworth was out on her porch as he came down Bank Street. She waved to get his attention, just in case he hadn’t noticed her there. He waved back.
“Good evening, Mrs. Ellsworth. I hope you’re keeping well,” he said as pleasantly as he could considering how furious he was with Sarah Brandt.
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Malloy. I knew you’d be calling tonight – either you or Mr. Dennis. I dropped a knife at dinner. Knife falls, gentleman calls, or at least that’s what they say.”
Frank didn’t ask who “they” were. He was too busy gritting his teeth at the thought of Richard Dennis calling on Sarah. “Is Mrs. Brandt at home?”
“Oh, my, yes. She arrived in a fancy carriage a few hours ago. We’ve seen a lot of carriages calling for her lately. Much different from the people who usually come running down the street to fetch her for a birth, I must say.”
A fancy carriage. She’d probably been out somewhere with Dennis again. He tried reminding himself it was none of his concern, but he still felt like somebody had cut out a large chunk of his insides with a dull knife. “How is Nelson getting on?” he asked to change the subject. Mrs. Ellsworth’s son had recently been accused of murder, and Frank and Sarah had helped exonerate him.
“He’s working very hard, even harder than he did before,” she said proudly. “I expect he wants to prove to Mr. Dennis that he made the right decision not to dismiss him.”
“Knowing Nelson, he’ll have Dennis’s job before the year is out,” Frank said, making Mrs. Ellsworth smile. Since Dennis owned the bank, they both knew that was unlikely.
“He’ll be satisfied to become a vice president.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Frank teased her. He climbed the steps to Sarah’s door and knocked more loudly than he’d intended.
Mrs. Ellsworth bade him good night as the door opened.
“Malloy,” Sarah said with the welcoming smile she hadn’t given him the last few times he’d come here. “You must’ve gotten my message very quickly.”
He refused to return that smile and went inside at her silent invitation. “You’ve got to stop leaving me messages at Headquarters,” he said sternly, determined to get this settled.
She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. “Are you worried about my reputation or your own?” she asked in amusement.
“It’s not funny. You should hear what they say about you.”
“Why don’t you tell them Commissioner Roosevelt has made me an honorary detective?” she suggested. “Then you’d have an excuse to consult with me.”
“Maybe I’ll ask him to do that,” Frank said, reluctantly allowing his anger to cool a bit. She always had that effect on him. Until the next time she made him angry.
Which would probably be in about sixty seconds.
“Come into the kitchen. I’ve got a lot of things to tell you,” she said.
Frank followed obediently, leaving his hat hanging in the hallway, as usual.
She’d already made coffee, and a pie sat on the table.
“Did Mrs. Ellsworth make the pie?” he asked.
“Of course. She said she knew you were coming. Something about a knife falling on the floor.” She began to cut the pie.
“She told me she wasn’t sure if it was me or Richard Dennis,” he said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice as he took his seat at the table.
“She only said that to make you jealous,” she said, setting a piece of apple pie in front of him. Apple was his favorite.
He decided not to reply to that. “Does this have something to do with that Italian girl’s death?” he asked instead, neatly cutting off the point of his pie and raising it to his mouth.
“Yes, I’ve found out a lot of important things since I saw you last. I even found the murder weapon.”
Frank nearly choked on his pie. She quickly poured him a cup of coffee, but it was too hot and burned his tongue. By the time he’d stopped coughing, he was good and mad again. “Didn’t I tell you not to get involved with this?” he growled.
“You told me not to get involved with the Black Hand, and then you told me the Black Hand didn’t have anything to do with Emilia’s death. Besides,” she added quickly, when he would have started shouting, “I wasn’t investigating the murder. I just went down to the Mission to volunteer to help.”
“What do you mean, volunteer?” He did shout this time.
She didn’t even blink. “I decided they could use some help, so I offered it.”
“Do they need a lot of babies delivered down there?”
She just ignored his sarcasm. “I’m teaching the girls how to avoid disease,” she said self-righteously. “And last night my mother had a party to help Mrs. Wells raise money for the mission. I already told you about that.”
Frank had to take a deep breath so he wouldn’t shout again. “I thought Dennis was giving the party.” He couldn’t understand why he insisted on mentioning Dennis. It was like rubbing salt in an open wound.
“He helped us host it and invited some of his wife’s friends,” she said, setting her own coffee down on the table beside her piece of the pie and taking a seat opposite him. “I got to talk to two of the girls from the mission last night. I’ve noticed some strange things going on in that house.”
“Like what?” Frank asked skeptically, knowing she’d tell him anyway but willing to do his part. He did enjoy pointing out the holes in her theories, and after what she’d done, she deserved it.
“First of all, Mrs. Wells tends to play favorites among the girls. Emilia was her latest favorite, and that made the other girls very jealous.”
“You think one of them stabbed her to death because she was jealous?” he asked. The pie – now that he finally got to swallow some of it – was delicious, as usual.
“Don’t make fun, Malloy,” she warned him. “And don’t forget where these girls came from. Some of them have lived on the streets. All of them have seen violence firsthand, and they know life is cheap. The mission is the best place they’ve ever been. They have food and clothes and a clean, safe place to sleep. They’re treated with respect, and they want Mrs. Wells to love them. I think if one of them felt threatened, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill a rival.”
“You make it sound like a lovers’ quarrel,” he scoffed.
“It’s more like a large family, with a mother who loves some of her children more than others. Mrs. Wells chooses one favorite girl. That girl is entrusted with big responsibilities, mainly being in charge of all the other girls. She also gets material rewards. Emilia got the clothes I donated. And she got special attention from Mrs. Wells, too. All that made the other girls hate her.”
“How do you know?”
“They told me, or at least two of them did. One of them is the current favorite. She actually said she’s glad Emilia died, and that others are, too.”
“That’s not surprising. Most brothers and sisters wish the others would die so they’d be the only child. That doesn’t mean she stuck a knife in Emilia’s neck.” She was making this entirely too easy.
She got up. He thought maybe she was going to get him another piece of pie, but instead she picked up something wrapped in wrinkled paper that had been lying on top of her ice box and slapped it down on the table in front of him.
“What’s this?” he asked suspiciously.
“Open it.”
Gingerly, he peeled back the paper and saw… a hat pin.
“I told you,” she said. “I found the murder weapon.”
He looked up in surprise, but she seemed perfectly serious. He looked at the pin again. “How could this be the murder weapon?”
“Because,” she said, sitting down again, “this is the hat pin that Emilia was wearing the morning she was killed. It was in the bag with the rest of her clothing at the morgue.”
The morgue? Frank got a very uneasy feeling. “How did you get it?”
“I went down to the morgue to make arrangements to have her buried,” she said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.
“What?” he shouted again.
She didn’t blink again. “Her family certainly can’t afford to do it. You know that as well as I do. I even asked her priest if the church would pay for it, but he refused. Did you know that the Irish priests don’t even allow the Italians to worship in the sanctuary? They make them go to the basement!”
Frank hadn’t been in a church since Kathleen died, but he wouldn’t doubt this was true. Nobody liked the Italians. He had to run a hand over his face to clear his mind. “Let me understand this. You went to a priest and asked him to pay to have Emilia buried?”
“Yes, and when he wouldn’t, I decided I’d pay for it myself. I went down to the morgue to tell them so they wouldn’t put her in a pauper’s grave before I could make the arrangements.”
He had to run a hand over his face again and take a deep breath so that he wouldn’t raise his voice. Yelling at her for going to the morgue now wouldn’t make any difference, since she’d already done it. “Now tell me again what this hat pin has to do with anything.”
“The attendant at the morgue – and by the way, that horrible man wasn’t there anymore – told me I could take the hat and the shoes Emilia was wearing, because they don’t bury people in hats and shoes. I thought someone at the mission might want them, so I took them, and the hat pin, too. When I looked at it, I thought it must be rusty, because it was brown. But when I gave it to Gina, I realized it wasn’t rusty at all.”
“Who’s Gina?”
“One of the girls at the mission. Look at the pin, Malloy,” she said impatiently. “What do you see?”
Frank picked up the pin, holding it by the end that was shaped like a flower. He saw the brown residue near the base. He rubbed it with a finger and realized she was right. It wasn’t rust.
“Remember we thought Emilia was stabbed with a stiletto because that was the thinnest blade we could think of?” she asked. “But she wasn’t stabbed with a knife at all. Someone came up behind her, pulled the pin out of her hat, and used that to kill her.”
Frank stared at the pin, easily picturing what must have happened. The sharp end of the sturdy pin would have gone in easily and neatly, and the shaft was more than long enough to do terrible damage once inside the girl’s head. As much as he hated to admit it, Sarah was probably right. “Her hat was off when we found her,” Frank murmured. “I thought it must’ve gotten knocked off when she fell.”
“But it came off because someone took the pin out,” Sarah said. He knew that tone. She was excited because she was right.
“Then the killer wiped the worst of the blood off of it on her back and dropped it,” he said. “We found the pin in the leaves beside her body. Nobody even noticed the blood.” He hated making a mistake like that.
“Nobody knew she’d been stabbed then,” she reminded him, trying to make him feel better, he knew. “Besides, a man would never even consider a hat pin a weapon.”
A man would never consider a hat pin a weapon. The truth of the words seemed to echo in his head. He certainly wouldn’t have.
“Would a woman consider it a weapon?” he asked.
“Of course! I’ve used it myself on the train, when some masher thinks he can take advantage of a crowded car to press a little too close. A woman with a hat pin is never defenseless.”
Frank laid the pin down carefully on the paper while he considered what she’d told him.
“Malloy, do you know what this means?” she asked when he didn’t say anything.
He looked up. “Yeah, it means we were looking in the wrong direction.”
“That’s right. We figured Emilia had been stabbed by one of the men she’d been involved with.”
“Because they’re Italians and because we thought she’d been stabbed with a stiletto,” he said.
“But it wasn’t a stiletto, which means it probably also wasn’t a man.”
He hated being wrong, but he hated her being right more. At least she wasn’t gloating yet.
“The girls also told me they’re sure Emilia wouldn’t have gone to meet a man that morning,” she continued. “They said Emilia hated men, especially Ugo, for what he did to her.”
“Not only wouldn’t a man have thought of stabbing someone with a hat pin, he also wouldn’t have bothered to wipe off the blood.”
Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that! It seemed such a natural thing to do, or at least I thought it was natural.”
“Because you’re a woman.” He stared at her for a moment. “So what woman wanted her dead?”
She didn’t want to say the words, even though she knew they were true. “It had to be one of the girls at the mission.”
“Do you have any idea which one?”
“No, but I know how to find out.”
“No!” he said, slamming his fist onto the table and making her jump. “You’re not going to confront somebody who might be a killer.”
Her smile was sad. “I don’t have to confront anybody. All I have to do is ask Mrs. Wells which one of the girls said Emilia wanted Ugo to see her new dress. She’s the one who was creating an alibi for herself because she’s the one who killed Emilia.”
Frank had to resist the urge to storm the Prodigal Son Mission as he walked down Mulberry Street on his way back to Police Headquarters. It was only a few more blocks away, and he knew Emilia Donato’s killer was inside. The problem was that he couldn’t just go barging into the mission asking questions, and certainly not this late in the evening. Mrs. Wells wouldn’t like being disturbed by the police, and she especially wouldn’t like him accusing her little angels of murder. She’d complain to his superiors, and Frank would draw their wrath for that and for continuing to investigate the case when he’d been ordered to stop. Besides, he couldn’t possibly expect to get the kind of cooperation from Mrs. Wells that he’d need to identify the killer. As much as he hated to admit it, only Sarah Brandt could do that.
So Frank had reluctantly agreed to let her ask her questions and then notify Frank of what she learned. At least she had sense enough to agree with him that she shouldn’t try confronting the killer herself – especially not a killer who could turn a harmless hat pin into an instrument of death. A girl who killed just for the opportunity to get a new dress or a little additional attention was dangerous indeed.
Trying not to think about that, Frank climbed the narrow steps to Headquarters. He had a prisoner to question.
Twenty-four hours in the cellar cells had softened Danny considerably. He wasn’t completely broken yet, but Frank hoped he was smart enough to realize he soon would be if he didn’t tell Frank what he wanted to know.
He had the guards bring the boy into an interrogation room. Frank pulled a small loaf of stale braided bread he had bought from an old Italian woman on the corner out of his pocket and laid it on the table in front of the boy. Danny looked up warily, afraid to trust an apparent act of kindness.
“Go ahead, eat it,” Frank said, taking the chair opposite him.
The boy hesitated another second, then grabbed it up and tore into it like a starving dog. Frank let him finish it, waiting patiently. He noticed the boy had a few new bruises on his face since yesterday. Probably, he’d gotten them fighting to keep his ration of food from the other prisoners. That happened a lot. Judging from the way he ate the bread, he’d lost those fights, too.
When he’d swallowed the last of the bread, the boy looked up at Frank again. His expression was cocky – probably out of habit – but his eyes held the haunted fear of despair.
“Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you go,” Frank said reasonably.
“He’ll kill me,” the boy argued, but Frank could see he now feared Frank as much as the other man.
“Maybe he would and maybe he wouldn’t, but I can kill you for sure,” Frank said with a smile. “All I have to do is put you back down in that hole and forget you’re there. You saw your friend Billy, and he’d only been down there a couple days.”
“Oh, God,” he moaned, covering his face with his hands.
Frank waited, giving him time to decide.
At last the boy looked up. “I don’t know much,” he said, his voice a pleading whine. “Not enough to be any help.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Frank said. “And don’t annoy me. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. If I have to start slapping you around, I’m going to get very angry.”
The boy swallowed. “He was a swell.”
“Yeah, I know, a rich man. You told me that before,” Frank reminded him sternly.
“He didn’t tell me his name. He just said he wanted me to fetch this doctor. Tell him somebody was sick and needed him right away.”
“Where were you supposed to take him?”
“Down by the river. I can show you the place,” he added hopefully.
“Maybe later,” Frank said. “Then what were you supposed to do?”
“I was supposed to leave him there and run.”
“But you didn’t, did you, Danny? A bright boy like you, you would’ve stayed around to listen. Never miss a trick, do you? Maybe you’ll hear something useful, something that’ll get you more money out of the rich swell.”
Danny was shaking his head frantically, but Frank could see from his eyes that he was right.
“What did you hear, Danny?” he asked in the tone that usually got him the correct answer.
“Nothing that made any sense,” he insisted.
“Tell me anyway,” Frank suggested.
The boy swallowed again, his fear palpable. “I took him down this alley. It was dark, so he didn’t see the swell at first. The swell just says, ‘Hello, Tom,’ and the doc stops and says, ‘What’re you doing here?’ Then the swell tells me to go, so I do.”
“But you don’t go far, do you? You wait to see what’s going to happen.”
“I knew about the doc,” he said in an effort to justify himself. “He never turned anybody away, even if they couldn’t pay. I thought maybe he’d need help or something, so I waited, just in case.”
Frank wasn’t fooled, but he let Danny get away with the lie. “What did you hear?”
“Not much at first, until they started shouting. The swell, he says something about what the doc did to his daughter. The doc says he saved her or something like that. Then I hears a noise, like somebody getting hit. After a bit, the swell comes out of the alley. I’m sure he’s gonna see me, but he’s going too fast, and I’m in a doorway, hiding, and it’s dark. I wait, but the doc don’t come out, so I goes in to see, and he’s just laying there, his head all smashed in. The swell, he had this cane with a big silver knob. I figure he hit the doc with it.”
“Why didn’t you call for help?”
Danny looked at him like he was crazy. “They’d think I done it! Besides, the doc is dead. Anybody can see that. Nothing’s gonna help him now. So I run.”
“You didn’t tell me everything, Danny,” Frank prodded.
“Yes, I did. I swear to God!” His voice was shrill with the terror of being thrown back into the cellar.
“The swell called the doc by name. What did the doc call him?”
“Nothing, I swear! He just called him ‘you.’ ”
“I need a name, Danny,” Frank said. “You must’ve heard Dr. Brandt say a name.”
“Just one, when they was shouting. That’s all.”
“And what was the name?”
Danny’s face blanched. “Decker.”
Sarah heard the city clocks chiming two the next afternoon as she hurried down Mulberry Street toward the mission. She’d spent her morning dealing with the twins she’d delivered several days ago. She’d been summoned early that morning because the mother was ill, and she’d died only a few hours later. The babies were literally starving, and the father had thrust them on her, begging her to take them away. He couldn’t even begin to care for the five children he already had, and he didn’t want to watch the babies die.
Sarah couldn’t help thinking of the midwife who had taken the baby who grew up to be Emilia Donato. She must have believed she had done a good deed and ensured the child would have a good life with a loving family. As Sarah had arranged for these two babies to be placed in an orphanage, she only hoped they would fare better than Emilia had.
When Sarah finally reached the mission, she was already exhausted, and she still had the costume party tonight. The city would be alive with ghosts and goblins as soon as the sun set. Sarah hoped she’d have time for a short nap before Richard called to pick her up. At least her mother had been able to supply her with a costume, so she hadn’t had to worry about that.
Sarah’s knock was answered by Maeve, who didn’t look pleased to see her. “Mrs. Wells is busy,” she informed Sarah.
“I’ll wait then,” Sarah said, undaunted. Whatever Maeve may think, Sarah knew that no matter how busy Mrs. Wells might be, she wouldn’t refuse to see someone who had provided so much financial support for the mission. “I have something very important to discuss with her. Would you please tell her I’m here?” she added, managing to insinuate herself into the house without actually knocking Maeve over in the process.
Sarah heard a giggle and looked over to see Aggie sitting on the stairs, watching with amusement.
“What are you laughing at, you little brat?” Maeve asked her.
Aggie didn’t even flinch. She knew she had nothing to fear from Maeve.
“I’ll wait in the parlor,” Sarah informed the girl, who should have already invited her to do so.
Maeve went off in a huff. Watching her go, Sarah had a horrible thought. What if Maeve was the killer? She’d admitted she was glad Emilia was dead, and she had no love for anyone at the mission except Mrs. Wells. And if she wasn’t the killer, someone else here undoubtedly was.
Suddenly, annoying Maeve didn’t seem like a wise move. Sarah would certainly have to be careful from now on.
The sound of another giggle distracted her, and she saw Aggie still sitting on the stairs, watching her. “Would you like to keep me company while I wait for Mrs. Wells?” she asked the girl.
Aggie nodded and followed Sarah into the parlor. The girl wore a shabby dress that was too big for her, but it was perfectly clean and neatly patched. Her brown hair had been carefully braided, and her face scrubbed until it fairly glowed.
Sarah set down her medical bag and took a seat on the sofa, inviting Aggie to sit beside her. Instead, the girl crawled into her lap, which suited Sarah just fine.
“You look very nice today, Aggie,” Sarah said, settling the child more comfortably. “Who fixed your hair?”
The little girl smiled, showing her tiny teeth, but didn’t answer, of course.
“Did Maeve fix your hair?”
The smile vanished and the little head shook no.
“Did Mrs. Wells?”
She nodded.
They proceeded like this for a while in a strange, one-sided conversation. Sarah learned that Aggie liked Emilia and missed her, but she didn’t like Maeve at all. She enjoyed playing in the yard with the other children from the neighborhood, and she liked living at the mission. Sarah also discovered that whoever had left Aggie at the mission wasn’t her mother or her father. When Sarah asked her what had become of her parents, her answer was a shrug and no indication of any emotion. She didn’t know where they were and apparently had no memory of them.
“You’re a very lucky girl to have come here,” Sarah told her.
“She certainly is,” Mrs. Wells said as she came into the room. “I hope you haven’t been bothering Mrs. Brandt, Aggie.”
“Oh, no,” Sarah assured her. “We’ve been having a lovely visit, haven’t we, Aggie?”
The child nodded vigorously, making Sarah smile. But when she looked up, Mrs. Wells was frowning. Before Sarah could wonder why, her expression lightened again.
“Maeve said you had something important to discuss with me,” she said. “I hope nothing is wrong.”
Sarah wanted to remind her that one of her girls had been murdered and nothing could be more wrong than that, but Aggie was there. Besides, it would be rude. Instead she said, “Perhaps we should close the doors… and send Aggie out to play.”
Intrigued and concerned, Mrs. Wells lifted Aggie from Sarah’s lap and stood her on her feet. “Run along outside now with the other children,” she told the child, shooing her out. “I mean it,” she added. “Remember what I told you about listening at doors.” She waited until Aggie’s footsteps died away, then pulled the parlor doors shut and turned back to Sarah. “You said nothing was wrong.”
“Nothing new,” Sarah said. “It’s just… Detective Sergeant Malloy and I were discussing Emilia’s murder, and he had a question I couldn’t answer. I was hoping you could.”
Mrs. Wells had grown appropriately solemn. “I thought Mr. Malloy was no longer investigating Emilia’s death.”
“He’s not, but I’m still concerned, naturally. We were just discussing the facts we knew, and I recalled you said one of the girls heard Emilia say she wished Ugo could see her in her new outfit.”
For a moment, Sarah thought she would deny it, but then she appeared to remember. “Oh, yes, I’d almost forgotten,” she said cautiously. Sarah couldn’t blame her for being cautious when they were discussing her girls.
“Do you remember which girl it was?”
She didn’t answer right away. After a moment, she asked, “Do you believe this Ugo killed Emilia?”
“It’s certainly a possibility,” Sarah said tactfully. “We just thought it might be a clue.”
“How could it be a clue?”
Sarah always got into trouble when she lied. “We think… that is, I don’t believe Emilia actually said that.”
Now Mrs. Wells was really confused. “Why not?”
“Because from what the other girls have told me, Emilia hated Ugo and wouldn’t have wanted to see him.”
Mrs. Wells gave her a pitying smile. “Mrs. Brandt, women who have been abused often profess to hate their abusers. Unfortunately, and for reasons I shall never understand, they also seem irresistibly drawn to them. Emilia herself went back to Ugo a second time, even after he mistreated her. If he had professed a renewed desire to have her, I’m afraid she might have returned to him yet again.”
Sarah herself knew this to be true. “We do know, however, that Ugo didn’t kill Emilia,” she explained. “In fact… Well, I’m not quite sure how to say this. I know it will be difficult for you to believe, but… we think Emilia was killed by a woman.”
“A woman?” she echoed, apparently stunned.
“Or a girl,” Sarah clarified. “I’m so sorry, but we think one of the girls here at the mission killed her.”
The blood had drained from Mrs. Wells’s face, and Sarah hurried to her side. “Are you all right? I’ve got some smelling salts in my bag, if you – ”
“No, please,” she said, stiffening her back and lifting her chin. She took a few deep breaths and the color slowly returned to her cheeks. “Really, I’m fine. It’s just… such a shock.”
“I know,” Sarah agreed, sitting back down on the sofa. “I didn’t want to believe it myself, but there seems to be no other explanation.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what led you to this conclusion. I can’t believe… It’s impossible!”
Sarah told her about the hat pin and how it had been used to kill Emilia.
“But how would someone know that would kill her?” Mrs. Wells asked. “How would a girl know it?”
“When we find the killer, we can ask her,” Sarah said.
“And how will you find her? I’m sure no one is going to simply admit it.”
“She won’t have to. I think you know who the killer is, Mrs. Wells.”
Mrs. Wells’s expression collapsed into despair. “I?”
“Yes. Remember I asked you about the girl who told you Emilia wanted Ugo to see her new dress? I think she made that story up so when you told it to the police, they would think Ugo was the killer. I think that girl is the killer, Mrs. Wells, and you’re the one who knows who she is. Who told you that story?”
Sarah watched the play of emotions across her face as she struggled with her desire to protect the living and her duty to find justice for the dead. “I thought… but you say it had to be a woman,” she murmured, absently rubbing her temple as if to ward off a headache. “I’m trying to remember exactly… But it couldn’t have been Maeve,” she insisted finally.
“Was Maeve the one who told you?” Sarah asked, feeling a chill.
“Yes, but she couldn’t have killed Emilia. She was here at the mission. She couldn’t have left without anyone knowing!” Before Sarah realized what she was doing, Mrs. Wells rose and threw open the parlor door and called, “Maeve!”
Instinctively, Sarah rose to her feet, ready for whatever might happen.
“Maeve, come here at once!” Mrs. Wells called again, and Sarah could hear the patter of running feet.
Maeve skidded to a halt in the parlor doorway, and Mrs. Wells pulled her inside and slammed the door shut behind her. “Did you tell me that Emilia wanted Ugo to see her in her new dress the morning she was killed?”
Maeve looked terrified, her eyes so wide Sarah could see a rim of white all the way around. “I… no, ma’am, I never.” She glared at Sarah. “I told Gina that when she asked me, too.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Wells didn’t ask what she meant by that. “But you did tell me she was going to see her lover, didn’t you?” she pressed.
Maeve looked at her uncertainly, obviously wanting to please her but uncertain exactly how she could do that. “I… no, not her lover. Her mother. She wanted her mother to see her dressed up fine.”
Of course! Now Sarah remembered that Gina had said something to that effect just before she’d noticed the blood on the hat pin. The shock had driven it completely from Sarah’s mind. “But why would she have gone to the park to see her mother?” Sarah asked. “She only lives down the street.”
Mrs. Wells turned to Sarah. Her face looked as if it were carved from stone. “Her mother sells paper flowers there.”
Sarah felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.
“Mrs. Brandt, are you all right?” Mrs. Wells asked in alarm. “Surely, you don’t think… her own mother?”
Sarah remembered Emilia’s mother and how much she had hated the baby girl she believed had been spawned by rape. Had Emilia sought her out in the park that morning to flaunt her new respectability? Had old hatreds overwhelmed her? “I don’t know,” she lied. The idea made too much sense and explained all the strange details of the case. “But I’ll have to tell Mr. Malloy. If she did, he’ll find out.”
“God help her,” Mrs. Wells said.