Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery (7 page)

“I—”

“Don’t say a word!” Lizzie snapped, then turned to Frank. “I told you to get out of here. You can’t come in here and bully us.”

Of course he could, but that would be a waste of time. The girl wasn’t going to admit anything now. “Mr. Devries didn’t have a heart attack.”

“How did he die, then?” the girl asked.

He couldn’t tell her the truth, not if he ever expected to find out if she’d done it. “We don’t know yet.”

“Why not?”

“The medical examiner is doing an autopsy to find out what killed him.”

“Then why are you bothering us?” Lizzie asked. “Miss English has enough problems without the likes of you getting her all upset.”

“Miss English, do you know a man named Salvatore Angotti?”

The girl’s eyes widened again.

“Of course she don’t. How would she know somebody like that? A foreigner, of all people. Miss English don’t know people like that.”

Except Frank would’ve bet a month’s pay she knew him very well or had at least heard his name before. He needed to get Miss English alone, without the meddling older woman. But since she was here, he would have to give up for now. He looked around the sad little room. “Do you own the house, Miss English?”

“I—”

“What business is it of yours?” Lizzie asked.

“Just curious. I hope she got him to give her a financial settlement at least. The family won’t waste any time putting her out if she doesn’t own it.”

Fear flashed across the girl’s face. “How long do you think I have?”

So she didn’t own the house. “That depends on whether someone in the family knows about you or not. It might take some time for them to find out if they don’t. If I were you, I’d start making other plans, though. You can’t stay here forever.”

The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and Frank had to look away. He saw plenty of human misery every day. This girl’s situation wasn’t even particularly bleak. She’d probably find another protector, and next time she’d be smarter and ask for the house. In any case, he could do nothing for her. He gave her his card. “I may be back again if I have more questions.”

“More questions about what?” she asked.

Frank didn’t answer. He just walked out of the room with Lizzie on his heels. As if suddenly remembering her duties, she helped Frank on with his coat and handed him his hat.

“How did he die?” she asked in a whisper.

“I told you, I don’t know yet.”

“But you think somebody did him in, don’t you? Was it poison?”

“Maybe. Any idea who might’ve wanted him dead?”

“Anybody that knew him, I’d guess.”

Not a very nice epitaph. “Do you know this Salvatore Angotti?”

“How would I?” She was lying. Frank was sure of it. “But if Devries was poisoned, I’d say he done it. You can’t trust those foreigners.”

Frank figured that’s what everyone would tell him.

M
IRACULOUSLY, NO ONE SUMMONED
S
ARAH TO A BIRTH
the next day, so she was ready when her mother’s carriage stopped in front of her house on Bank Street that afternoon. Sarah kissed Catherine good-bye and promised that Mrs. Decker would come in to see her when they returned.

Her mother smiled a greeting when Sarah climbed into the carriage. She wore a dove gray suit beneath her fur-lined cape. “I could hardly sleep last night,” she confessed as Sarah settled on the seat beside her.

“Did you find out anything new from Father last night?”

“No, he went back to the club and didn’t come in until late. He felt he should be there in case any of the members wanted to know what had happened to poor Chilton. Then he went back today. Why are mourning calls made in the afternoon? This has been the slowest day of my life.”

Sarah smiled. “I don’t know who created the rules for proper behavior, but I imagine women decided that having mourning callers in the morning didn’t give them enough time to dress properly or something.”

“Don’t make fun, Sarah. These things are very important to many people.”

“I’m not making fun, Mother, but I must say, I’m thankful I don’t have to worry about these things much anymore. By the way, Malloy came by last night.”

“He did? I’m so sorry I missed him. Did you tell him about our plans?”

“Yes, and he was just as shocked as we were that Father wanted me to go with you.”

“I’m sure he was. Oh, dear, I suppose he came to warn you
not
to get involved. I know how he feels about you putting yourself in danger.”

“That’s what I expected, too, but no, he also asked me to go with you today. So we have his blessing, too.”

Mrs. Decker frowned. “I’m not sure I like this. Having permission takes away a lot of the excitement, doesn’t it?”

“Mother.”

“Well, it does. So tell me what Mr. Malloy had to say so we can plan what we’re going to do when we get to Lucretia’s house.”

City traffic slowed their progress to a crawl, so Sarah had plenty of time to relay what Malloy had shared with her. By the time they were escorted into the Devrieses’ parlor, they both felt confident of their mission.

“Elizabeth, thank you so much for coming,” Lucretia Devries said, ensconced in an overstuffed chair, her feet resting demurely on a needlepoint footstool. She offered a limp hand, wrist to ankle encased in the unrelieved black taffeta of a recent widow.

“I’m so very sorry to hear about Chilton,” Elizabeth said, taking the offered hand.

“Oh, yes, such a terrible shock. I don’t know what I would
do without Paul. Children can be such a comfort during a time like this.”

“I’m sure they can. Lucretia, you remember my daughter, Sarah Brandt, don’t you?”

Sarah watched the older woman’s gaze sharpen as she turned, perhaps remembering Sarah’s rebellious elopement and the resulting rift with her family. “My condolences, Mrs. Devries.”

“Thank you, my dear. Please, sit down. I’ve rung for some tea. You must be frozen. How troublesome to have to bury Chilton when the weather is so bad.”

Sarah seated herself on a sofa across from Mrs. Devries. “I’m sure he never thought of the inconvenience when he died,” her mother said with a perfectly straight face as she joined her.

“How like him.”

Sarah coughed to cover a laugh.

“Oh, dear, I hope you’re not ill. I’m very susceptible to illness.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Sarah said.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter-in-law, Lucretia,” Mrs. Decker said. “Will she be joining us?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. I sent the maid to tell her we have visitors, but that girl does only what she wants.”

“How long have she and Paul been married now?”

“Almost two years, and no sign of a child yet. Young women today have no sense of responsibility. I was already expecting my second child when I’d been married for two years.”

“I’m sure you’re anxious for more grandchildren,” Mrs. Decker said.

“I don’t care a thing about grandchildren, but one has a duty to carry on the family name, doesn’t one?”

The parlor door opened, breaking the awkward silence, and
a beautiful young woman stepped in, also swathed in the unrelieved black of full mourning.

“Oh, here she is at last,” Mrs. Devries said, as if they had been waiting hours. “My daughter-in-law, Garnet. Mrs. Decker and her daughter, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah and her mother made the proper replies to Garnet Devries’s polite greeting, then they offered their condolences on her recent loss, to which she merely murmured a stiff, “Thank you,” before taking a seat on the chair farthest from her mother-in-law.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Devries said. “I know Garnet will feel Chilly’s loss more than any of us. He was so very fond of her, you know.”

Sarah turned in time to catch an expression of the fiercest hatred twisting Garnet’s lovely features.

If looks really could kill, the Devrieses would be planning two funerals this week.

F
RANK HAD GOTTEN THE ADDRESS OF
C
HILTON
D
EVRIES’S
office from Felix Decker yesterday, and he found the building without too much trouble. Devries, it seemed, owned a good chunk of New York City real estate and kept his family in style by collecting rents from the thousands of people who had no choice but to live in the run-down hovels men like Devries provided for them. As an elevator operator guided the car to the top floor of the tall building, Frank wondered idly if Devries owned the building where he lived with his mother and his son.

An attractive young female sat at the desk in the reception area, a rare sight but growing more common by the day as women learned typewriting and other office skills. Frank recognized the type—plump and wholesome. Devries knew what he liked. She looked as if she’d been crying, but she smiled bravely as Frank approached her desk.

“May I help you?”

Frank introduced himself, making her smile vanish. “I need to speak to whoever is in charge now that Mr. Devries is”—he caught himself when he saw she was tearing up again—“gone.”

“I suppose Mr. Watkins could help you.” She disappeared into one of the offices that opened off the reception area and returned to escort him in.

Mr. Watkins greeted him with suspicion. An older man with graying hair and a solid gold watch chain stretched across his slight paunch, he looked like someone perfectly capable of assuming whatever responsibility would fall to him now that Devries was dead. He invited Frank to take a seat on one of the chairs situated conveniently in front of his desk.

“I’m very sorry about Mr. Devries,” Frank said. “Have you worked for him for a long time?”

“Twenty-seven years in March.” Watkins leaned back in his impressively large chair and peered at Frank thoughtfully. “Why are you here, Mr. Malloy?”

“Because we believe Mr. Devries’s death was not natural, and I need to find out who might have wanted to murder him.”

“Good God, you must be insane. Who would want to kill Mr. Devries?”

Frank remembered Lizzie the maid’s theory, but he didn’t voice it. “A man as rich and powerful as Mr. Devries must have made some enemies along the way.”

“Mr. Devries inherited most of his real estate holdings from his father, and I and my staff have added to them quietly and without drawing undue attention to Mr. Devries and his family. I assure you, no one has any reason to bear him a grudge.”

“What about his tenants? Has he evicted anybody lately?”

“Mr. Devries has never evicted anyone. We have staff who handle those duties. In fact, Mr. Devries spent little time here,
and I assure you, I know of no one who wished him ill because of his business interests.”

Frank pretended to consider this for a few minutes. “What do you know about Salvatore Angotti?”

“Who?”

“Salvatore Angotti. Don’t you know him?”

“Never heard of him.”

Frank believed him. “He doesn’t work for the company, then?”

“Certainly not. Although…as I said, we have staff members who handle difficult tasks for us. I don’t know everyone who works at that level.”

“Who does?”

“I’ll summon him. Miss Shively?” he called.

The girl came to the door.

“Will you ask Mr. Pitt to come to my office immediately, please?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who would keep track of Mr. Devries’s appointments?” Frank asked when the girl had gone.

Watkins frowned. “As I said, Mr. Devries didn’t spend much time here, and when he did…Well, he has never taken much interest in the company.”

“What did he take an interest in?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. My responsibility is to make sure the company runs smoothly and continues to be successful.”

“To make a lot of money, you mean.”

Like most people who had money, Watkins didn’t like to talk about it. “That would be the result of success, yes.”

“And is the company successful?”

“I can assure you it is.”

“Then Mr. Devries didn’t have any reason to be upset with anybody here?”

Mr. Watkins appeared to be offended. “Certainly not!”

“And you hadn’t had words with him about anything?”

Mr. Watkins’ cheeks were growing red. “I haven’t seen Mr. Devries in several weeks.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Not at all.”

Frank nodded, considering. “Do you know about the woman who lives in the house on Mercer Street?”

This time Watkins stiffened slightly. “Which house on Mercer Street?”

“I think you know which one. The one where Miss English lives.”

“Is that her name?”

“So she says. I take it Mr. Devries didn’t deed it to her.”

Watkins sniffed derisively. “I’m surprised he didn’t make her pay rent.”

For the second time today, Frank had to keep his jaw from dropping open. “What will happen to her now?”

“I couldn’t say. That will be up to …”

“To who?”

Mr. Watkins frowned. “I was going to say to the family, but …”

“I can see how awkward it would be for you to raise the subject. But surely, you can talk to his son. He’s a man of the world.”

Plainly, Mr. Watkins did not agree. “I suppose …”

“You don’t need to be in a hurry about it. I’m sure the girl would appreciate having some time to make other arrangements.”

“Girl? Why do you call her a girl?”

“Because she’s not any older than Miss Shively out there.”

This news seemed to disturb Mr. Watkins even more, but
Frank didn’t have an opportunity to discuss it with him any further because another man came into the office. He stopped when he saw Frank.

“Excuse me, Mr. Watkins, I—”

“Come in, Pitt.” Watkins introduced him to Frank. Pitt was about Frank’s age, early thirties, and his pale skin, thinning hair, and slight build marked him as a man who spent his days in an office. “Mr. Malloy needs to know if we have anyone working for us by the name of…What was it again?”

“Salvatore Angotti.”

Pitt’s pale eyebrows rose. “Is Mr. Angotti in some sort of trouble?”

At last, someone who knew this Italian. “No,” Frank lied, managing to keep his excitement from showing. “I just need to ask him some questions.”

“Does this man work for us?” Watkins asked, obviously not pleased by the thought.