Murder at Beechwood (20 page)

I shoved my palms against the ground in an effort to rise. “I'm fine. I'm all right. Marianne, please.”

She rolled off me, sat up, and helped me do the same. The moment I was upright I scrambled on all fours across the ground . . . to Naomi, immobile on her back, staring wide-eyed up at the sky. Even in the dark I saw the insidious dark stain spreading across her chest.

“Miss Cross?” Her voice rattled in her throat, emerging as a weak croak.

“It's all right, Naomi. Don't speak. We'll take care of you.” I lifted her hand in mine and felt the tide of warmth recede from her fingers. She remained focused on the sky. I leaned over her. “Naomi, listen to me. Keep listening. I'll send my brother for help, but I'll stay here with you, I won't leave you. . . .”

A pair of hands gently grasped my shoulders. “Em. It's too late. She's gone.”

“No! She's not . . . she's . . .” But Brady was right. Though Naomi's eyes remained open, they no longer saw the sky or anything else. Her lips were parted but would never make another sound.

Bile rose up inside me and I scrambled again, this time dragging myself through the dirt as far as I could before my stomach emptied itself into the weeds.

Marianne followed, reaching to grasp the hair that had come loose from my coif and hold it away from my face. In a minute it was over. I was drained, empty but for the grief stabbing into my heart.

I sat up again and when I would have wiped a sleeve across my mouth, Marianne handed me a handkerchief. “It's clean,” she whispered, and again stroked stray hairs back from my face. In her other hand she grasped my hat, which had fallen off at some point.

Brady stood a few feet away, looking ghostly pale in the rising glow of the moon. “Em?” He seemed to grope for words and found none, merely fisted a hand and bowed his head.

With Marianne's help I rose on shaky legs. We stood side by side, our arms around each other, my weight supported by her. I'm certain I would have fallen otherwise. Brady crouched beside Naomi and gently straightened her arms and legs, smoothed her skirts, and folded her hands together on her belly. Then he removed his coat and laid it over her.

“And the person who did this?” I asked in a small voice.

“Gone. I didn't get a good look at him.” He gazed into the darkness across the tracks.

“He somehow followed us here,” I said dully, numbly. Brady shook his head. “I don't see how anyone could have without us noticing.”

“Then he must have been following me from earlier . . . maybe for days.” The attack on Neily and me on the
Vigilant
—had someone known we would be there? And Wyatt's murder at the hospital. Again, it was as if someone had known he would be there at that exact time. But who? Who had been clever enough to see all while not being detected? How had I been so blind, so oblivious? Even when I thought someone had been watching me, I all but dismissed it. And now this....

“If only she hadn't worn that light color.” Marianne pointed down at Naomi's pale pink hem trailing from under Brady's coat. “It made her too visible against the darkness. He might have missed her if she had worn brown or black or . . .”

“It's my fault.” My voice shook, verging on hysteria. “I caused this.”

“How is it your fault?” Brady thrust his fingers through his hair.

“I never should have agreed to meet her here. I shouldn't have come. If I had stayed away, she wouldn't have told her secrets and she would still be alive.” Tears fell, brisk and hot against my cheeks. “Why was I so stupid, so selfish? I should have left well enough alone, or sent the police here to meet her. I—”

Two strides brought Brady to me. He gripped my shoulders and shook me none-too-gently. “Stop it, Emmaline!”

Brady rarely called me anything but Em. Occasionally Emma, but never Emmaline. I fell silent, my tears still flowing, Brady's face a streaky blur filling my vision. He was speaking, but it took a moment for the words to register.

“Whoever did this was waiting for his chance. Don't you see, Em? First the driver, then Wyatt Monroe, and now this girl. Everyone who knew about Robbie. Someone is silencing them one by one.”

I rubbed the tears from my cheeks. “You think Wyatt knew about Robbie?”

“We all know about Robbie,” Marianne whispered. She darted a gaze over the surrounding trees, along the tracks. “Are we next?”

Brady raised his chin, his ears pricked. “We're alone here now, I'm sure of it, and I don't think whoever it was will be back. We need to take care of . . .”

“Naomi,” I supplied. “Her name was Naomi. She has a family somewhere. All she wanted was to go home.” My throat closed painfully.

“Em, you and Marianne take the curricle into town and alert the police. I'll stay here with Naomi.”

I thought to protest; I didn't want Brady out here alone. When I hesitated he again gripped my shoulders and brought his face close to mine. “I'll be fine, Em. We can't leave her here alone, lying on the ground. Don't argue, just go.”

He was right. Leaving the poor girl here alone would have been callous and disrespectful. But we wouldn't need to be gone long. “We don't have to go as far as town,” I said. “Derrick installed a telephone, and there's an officer guarding his house besides.”

Marianne and I hurriedly retraced our steps. Marianne took the reins; I doubt I could have managed it. Yet, as we reentered the familiar surroundings of the Point, my brain began to work again.

“Judith Kingsley may be in danger.”

“Mr. Andrews's sister?” Marianne asked. “How is she in danger?”

“Because she's Robbie's mother. I'm almost certain of it.”

Marianne gasped.

“All this time I believed it must be Daphne Gordon. But Naomi said Robbie's mother barely showed her pregnancy until the very last weeks. And Derrick told me his sister acted erratically all winter and spring, and that she continually disappeared without a word of explanation. The last time he saw her was about two months ago. She would have been barely seven months along and able to hide her belly beneath her clothing.” I turned on the seat to face Marianne. “And most telling of all, Judith Kingsley was furious with Virgil Monroe. I witnessed it at the ball, and I've also witnessed her bizarre behavior. Before she died, Naomi confirmed it was Virgil who hired her to take care of Robbie's mother and bring her child to an orphanage. She said the mother was distraught. Her screams followed them as they drove away with the baby.”

“God forgive me,” Marianne murmured, “but I'm glad the man is dead.”

“Is he?” Our gazes met, hers shocked, mine steady. We were coming up on Walnut Street. “Turn here.”

She returned her attention to the road and stopped where I indicated in front of the house. The street was quiet but for the melodic strains from a gramophone drifting from a neighbor's house. Nothing appeared unusual, yet a sense of foreboding gripped me. And then I realized.

The sidewalk in front of my childhood home lay vacant. “Where is the policeman? There's supposed to be one here at all times.”

“Inside perhaps?”

I glanced up at the windows of the second-floor apartment. The electric wall sconces Derrick had installed appeared to be on. Bright light filled the room, yet I detected no shadows or movement of any sort within.

“It's too still,” I said. We climbed down from the rig.

“Miss Cross—over there.”

My gaze followed the line of Marianne's outstretched finger. A mound of . . . something . . . lay beside the box hedge that ran between this house and the one next door.

The mound took shape as we hurried over—arm and legs, a torso lying facedown. The blue uniform confirmed that we had found the missing policeman. We sank to our knees beside him. I reached out, then yanked my hands back.

“Oh, Marianne, I don't think I can bear another . . .”

“I'll do it.”

She leaned to take hold of the officer's shoulders, and suddenly I was thrust back to the previous summer when I had performed a similar task beneath Uncle Cornelius's bedroom balcony at The Breakers. The result had not been a happy one then....

The policeman's arm moved, and he moaned as Marianne rolled him onto his back. I released a great breath of relief and fell back on my heels. Marianne helped the man sit up.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I think so—ow!” He touched the back of his neck. “Someone hit me from behind . . . Miss Cross, is that you?”

“Officer Dunlap?” I recognized him now, one of the newer men on the force. “Did you see anything?”

“No, help me up, please.”

Marianne and I each took an arm and steadied Tom Dunlap until he achieved his feet and caught his balance. He rubbed his neck again. Then he broke away from us and hurried over to the front of the house.

“If you're worried about Mr. Andrews,” I began, intending to reassure him that his charge would not have slipped away. Before I could speak another word footsteps echoed against the clapboards. I turned to find the source and bit back a gasp. “Derrick,” I whispered instead.

Officer Dunlap heard his approach and whirled about. My heart hit my throat as he reached for his sidearm, but his hand came up empty.

“Where is it, Andrews?” Officer Dunlap assumed a half crouch, his fists readied for a fight. “Ladies, get back in your carriage and go. I'll handle him.”

“I'm sure you're quite wrong about this,” I blurted.

“Listen here, Officer.” Derrick held up his hands, as empty as the policeman's. “I heard something, and when I looked out the window I saw you on the ground and the figure of a man dragging you to those bushes. I ran down to help, but by the time I reached the street whoever attacked you was gone. I thought I heard him running, so I took after him.”

“I'll bet you didn't find him, did you?” Officer Dunlap said, more an accusation than a question.

“No, I didn't.”

“Didn't think so. Miss Cross, go inside and call the station, please.”

“Officer Dunlap,” I said, “if Mr. Andrews attacked you, does it make any sense that he would have returned?”

The man thought for several tense seconds. “It does, if he thought he might make it back before I regained consciousness.” He narrowed his gaze on Derrick. “Where's my weapon?”

“I don't know.”

“You're lying.”

“Officer Dunlap, please . . .”

“Emma, go in and call the station,” Derrick said evenly. “Please.”

“I . . .” I couldn't move, couldn't think what to do next, what to say to convince Officer Dunlap that Derrick hadn't done anything wrong. That he was telling the truth.

Marianne placed an arm around my shoulders. “We came here to call the police, Miss Cross. We had better do it.”

“Wait!” The policeman's order stopped us halfway up the steps to the door. “What does she mean, you came here to call the police? Why?”

I stared at the ground. “Something happened,” I started, but stopped. How to explain that a young woman lay dead only minutes away?

I didn't have to. Marianne's protective arm tightened around me. “There was an incident. I'm surprised you didn't hear—it wasn't all that far away. A woman is dead. Shot.”

The policeman's expression turned hard as stone. Derrick's chest rose and fell, and he quietly repeated, “Call the station, Emma.”

I
made the telephone call that set the police in motion. Jesse told me under no uncertain terms that Marianne and I must not venture back to that lonely spot along the railroad tracks, but assured me a team of policemen would arrive there in a matter of minutes. I asked him to send an officer out to Gull Manor, then telephoned Nanny at home.

“Lock all the doors and windows,” I told her. “And don't open to anyone unless you know who it is, and that you can fully trust them.”

No doubt remained that Robbie was connected to the recent slew of deaths, and while part of me could not envision anyone hurting an innocent babe, Naomi's cold-blooded murder had taught me different. I longed to go home and protect Robbie myself, but there were matters here I needed to attend to. Besides, Nanny would safeguard that child to her dying breath, if it came to that. So would Katie, and I believed Stella would prove equally valiant. No, I could trust my formidable female army while I set my efforts toward helping to eliminate the threat once and for all.

Jesse arrived on Walnut Street with a handful of uniformed officers in tow. I wasted no time in confronting him with what in my mind were straightforward facts.

“Derrick could not have shot that poor girl. The timing is all off. Only a magician could have incapacitated Officer Dunlap, stolen his weapon, murdered Naomi, and made it back here at the same time Marianne and I arrived. Officer Dunlap would have been unconscious for more than half an hour.”

Jesse's eyes softened in sympathy, but his jaw remained resolute. “It's possible, Emma. A forceful enough blow can render a man out cold for an indeterminate length of time.”

“Can't you see this was an obvious attempt to make Derrick
appear
guilty of shooting that poor girl?” Jesse still didn't look convinced, but I hadn't finished. “There's another reason Derrick could not have shot Naomi. I stood close by, and he would not have risked hitting me.” I raised my chin. My disclosure, with its reminder of Derrick's past affections for me, undoubtedly hurt Jesse. I was sorry for that, but necessity outweighed diplomacy.

He didn't react except to say, “Come with me.” He drew me into Derrick's small kitchen and gestured for Marianne to follow. Once there it became clear to me he had nothing more to add to the debate, but merely wished to remove me from the procedure I had failed to prevent.

“Derrick Andrews, you are under arrest for the murder of an unidentified female. . . .”

“Her name is Naomi,” I called into the main room. Tears of frustration squeezed past my efforts to contain them. “He's innocent. Jesse, you know he's innocent.”

“I'm sorry, Emma, but I don't know anything at the moment.”

The heavy clank of iron handcuffs reverberated like gunshot in my ears.

“Is that necessary?” I snapped. “He didn't attempt to escape even though Officer Dunlap didn't have a weapon to keep him from running away.”

“It's procedure, I'm afraid.” Jesse removed his bowler and whisked a sleeve across his brow.

“I need to speak to him before you take him away.”

“I can't allow that.”

I crossed my arms in front of me, my features so tight with anger they ached. Jesse made a noise in his throat and tossed up a hand. “Five minutes.”

“Alone, please.” I pushed my luck, but the worst he could do was deny my request.

He didn't answer, but a moment later he and Marianne vacated the kitchen. Derrick and I occupied the two chairs facing each other across the small table.

I was not about to waste those few minutes Jesse had granted me. “Was Judith having an affair?”

In the ensuing silence I feared he would refuse to answer. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and met my gaze. “Yes, I believe so. It would explain her disappearances.”

“Could that affair have been with Virgil Monroe?”

His cheeks immediately blazed as if I'd struck him. “What? No!” He frowned and glanced down. “I don't think so.... Good God.”

“Derrick, that's not all. The day before Mrs. Astor's ball, someone left a baby, an infant, on my doorstep.” He jolted back in his chair. I hurried on. “Again and again, all evidence led me to the Monroes. The girl who died tonight, Naomi, told me Virgil Monroe had hired her to wait on a pregnant woman—one who barely showed her condition until the very last weeks. Is it possible . . . ?” I couldn't complete the question, but Derrick's dawning look of horror told me he had followed the train of my thoughts.

“Judith . . . and Virgil?” He shook his head, but not in denial. “It would explain her behavior these past months, her elusiveness, her defensiveness.”

“And her recent hostilities,” I added, remembering the many times she had deliberately attempted to offend me, as well her implied accusations against Derrick. “Naomi told me when Virgil ordered her to take the baby away, the woman's grief was extreme. Your sister, if she is indeed the mother, has been living under a terrible, desperate burden.”

“My God, I have a nephew . . .
might
have . . .” Gripping the table's edges, he came to his feet. “I have to go to her.” He darted a gaze about the room, as if searching for an escape route.

“You can't.”

“I must. She's my sister.”

“You can't, Derrick, but I can.”

“There's a murderer on the loose, Emma.”

“All the more reason for me to warn your sister. I'll convince Jesse to go with me,” I added when he seemed about to oppose the idea again. “According to Naomi, the mother has no idea where the baby was taken, and Naomi was afraid to approach her directly for fear of endangering everyone involved. If I tell Judith what I know, and that her child has been sheltering in my home, she might be willing to speak with me.”

“And then what?”

“And then she can speak to the police. She can at least provide you with an alibi the day you left the island.” Once again a protest rose up in him, his complexion turning fiery. “Derrick, stop being a martyr. Your sister is an adult, albeit a troubled one. I understand she is bound to be fragile right now, but don't you think reuniting her with her child will allow her to heal? To become something of her old self again? And do you honestly believe seeing you go to prison for crimes you didn't commit will help her?”

He looked at me sadly. “There is no resolution to this where no one will be hurt.”

“I'm afraid that is something we have to accept.” I stood and circled the table to stand close to him. “And there is the child. By accepting what happened to Judith and not judging her harshly, your family will be saving that little boy. At Gull Manor, we've been calling him Robbie.” I smiled.

He smiled back, his eyes filling with moisture. Blinking, he tapped a forefinger against my chin, just a slight touch that traveled through me. “Quite right.”

Jesse poked his head into the room, making me wonder if he had been listening in and waiting for us to reach a conclusion before interrupting. “It's time.”

Derrick calmly walked out of the kitchen before I could say good-bye to him; before I could convey any message, even the silent one pressing against my heart. But when Jesse also turned to leave, I stopped him.

“Let your men take Derrick in. We have important business elsewhere.”

 

“You realize this only makes him look guiltier.” Jesse held my hand and helped me down into the U.S. Life-Saving Service boat, a small, two-sailed steamer.

I nodded. “I believe that's why he didn't say good-bye when your men took him away. If his sister gave birth to Virgil Monroe's child, Derrick would certainly have a motive to commit murder.”

“Not once, but all three times, Emma. The first out of revenge, the other two to silence the people who knew his sister's secret.”

“You don't need to elaborate. I'm well aware of the implications. He's innocent.” I turned my head to look out over the water as we pushed away from Long Wharf.

“I'm sorry.”

“I know.”

“If it were me, would you have this kind of faith in my innocence?”

My answer came without hesitation. “Of course I would. Some things you can know without a shred of evidence.”

We cleared the other boats moored along the wharf. “The more truth that comes to light,” I said, “the closer we come to finding the real killer. Or killers.”

Jesse frowned. “Plural?”

“I don't know . . . I'm still not convinced Virgil is dead. With everything that's happened, he has the most motive to have killed Naomi.” I shivered. “He probably would have killed me, too, if Brady and Marianne hadn't come running. It's possible he didn't realize they were with me.”

“You're talking as if it's a foregone conclusion that Virgil Monroe is responsible for all of this.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “In a way, alive or dead, he
is
responsible.”

Suddenly I no longer had Jesse's attention. He had shifted on his seat across from me. Face raised, he inhaled. “Do you smell smoke?”

I sniffed the air. “No.”

Jesse glanced at the pilot, who shook his head.

“It's probably coming from one of the dockside taverns,” I suggested. “Someone is always burning something in those kitchens.”

Jesse only narrowed his eyes and continued to scent the air. “You must be right. I don't smell it now.”

We were well out into the harbor by now, away from the many vessels crowded together along the wharves.
Lavinia's Sun
rose up in front of us, three decks tall above the waterline and crowned by three masts and a rotund stack that released the steam when they relied on coal to power the ship. Except for lights shining behind the lower portholes, a dark stillness claimed the vessel.

“I think you should wait here.” Jesse carefully came to his feet as the pilot pulled alongside the hull.

“And how do you think Mrs. Andrews and her daughter will react to a man boarding their ship unannounced, and in the dark no less? From the looks of things, they've already retired for the night.”

He paused, making a wry face. “All right. But at the first sign of danger I want you to make your way back here.”

“What danger? Judith Kingsley's temper is volatile, true, but even at her worst she didn't threaten me with bodily harm. And when I explain to her why we've come, she'll very likely—” I broke off, inhaling. I couldn't be certain, but a sharpness in the air stung my nose. “Jesse, about that smoke you thought you smelled . . . I'm not sure, but . . .”

He handed me to my feet, and the two of us stood side by side, our heads raised. “Could also be a burnt pot roast down in the galley, or a loaf of bread.”

I nodded. The pilot lifted a reflective lantern from the deck of the boat. “We can't take any chances. I'm going to signal the station to be at the ready.”

Jesse and I climbed the starboard steps to the mezzanine deck. Polished, flawless teak gleamed in the moonlight. At first all seemed secure, but then the thinnest of wisps curled about our noses. I muffled a sneeze in my hand.

“Emma, go back down to the boat.”

“It could still be something burning in the galley. But to be safe we need to warn everyone on board.”

Jesse nodded and leaned down over the side to attract the pilot's attention. “Sound the alarm. Better safe than sorry.”

A second later a sharp clanging rose from the water.

“If there
is
a fire it's most likely below,” Jesse said to me, raising his voice above the clamor. Already we heard shouts from the lower decks. “I'll go down and help people out. You look for Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Kingsley, and any servants who might be on the upper decks.”

I started to move away, but he caught my wrist. “Please be careful. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you.” With that he pulled me into a hug. It lasted only an instant before he released me and started down the nearest set of steps.

I stood for a moment longer, dazed by the lingering phantasm of Jesse's regard. Then another acrid wisp jarred me from my thoughts and set me in motion. I tried to remember what little layout of the ship I'd observed on my first visit here. Were the staterooms on this level, as they were on Uncle William's yacht? With no hints in the form of lighted windows to guide me, I chose the closest door, opened it, and discovered a library within. Empty, but for the books lining the shelves.

I moved on, finally reaching the aft saloon, where I had met Judith when I came to deliver Derrick's message to her. The room lay dark and still, despite the disquieting memory of Judith's violent tirade.

As I made my way around the stern, a new thought took hold. If Derrick had motive to commit murder, didn't Judith as well? Perhaps even more so. Virgil had taken her child away from her. I wondered, could she have persuaded Wyatt to carry out her revenge on Robbie's father—there was little love lost between the brothers—and then killed him, and Naomi, to protect her secret?

If she witnessed Naomi talking to me, then she would know where to find Robbie.

Icy fingers clutched my heart. Thank goodness I'd called Nanny to warn her of possible danger, and that Jesse had sent an officer out to protect the house.

I continued past the aft saloon, which stretched around to the port side, and shook my head at the jumble of theories I'd concocted. Daphne and Lawrence as Robbie's parents. Virgil, still alive. Now Judith, a murderess. In truth I knew only two facts. That Virgil had hired Naomi and paid her to take Robbie away from his mother. All else was conjecture.