Murder on Lenox Hill (16 page)

“Yes, he was,” Sarah answered in surprise. She'd never thought of Tom's life in those terms before. “We were both very happy.”

“How did he die?”

Sarah braced herself for the pang she always felt when she thought of Tom's death. Time had dulled the sharp edges of the pain, but it still hurt.

Mrs. Upchurch misunderstood her hesitation. “Oh, dear, I've been offensive, haven't I? I'm afraid I'm not always sensitive to what others find offensive. You see, I'll be quite delighted to answer that question someday, because it will mean that my dear Oliver has gone to his eternal reward, and I shall be free of him at last.”

 
 
F
RANK STARED AT MISS WHITE IN AMAZEMENT. “BUT DR. Brandt really is dead. He was murdered almost four years ago.”

Miss White's face crumbled, and for a moment Frank thought she was going to cry, but she just shook her head in despair. “He sent you, didn't he?”

“Who?” Frank asked, thinking of Tom Brandt sending messages from the grave.

“My brother, Albert.” She shook her head again. “I try to remember that he loves me, too. He only wants what's best for me, or so he says. He just won't understand that Dr. Brandt
is
what's best for me. I can't live without him. Do you think I would have waited all this time if I didn't love him beyond all reason?”

Frank felt certain this was true. “Your brother didn't send me,” he tried. “I told you, I'm investigating Dr. Brandt's murder. He really is dead.”

She gave him a pitying look. “This is very cruel, and you should be ashamed of yourself. I guess you must need money very badly to have hired yourself out to do a thing like this. Are you an actor?”

“No, I'm not an actor,” Frank said in exasperation. Why hadn't anyone ever sat this woman down and made her see reason? How could her brother have let her believe this fairy tale all these years?

“You should be,” Miss White said. “You fooled me completely. I thought I could trust you.”

Just then the front door burst open, and a man came rushing into the front hallway, looking around frantically. “Edna, where are you?” he cried.

Miss White rose regally to her feet. Frank had already jumped up when the door slammed open. “I'm right here, Albert, speaking with this gentleman you sent here to tell me more lies.”

Albert White turned to Frank. He was a gangly man with little grace, his plain face flushed from running through the windy streets and creased with concern. His clothes were well made but not elegant. He resembled his sister, but a lack of beauty doesn't matter so much in a man. “Who are you?” he demanded breathlessly.

“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy with the New York City Police. I'm investigating the murder of Doctor Thomas Brandt.”

“Enough,” Edna said imperiously. “This deceit has gone far enough. I know what you've done, Albert, and you wasted your time and your money. Mr. Malloy was no more successful at convincing me Dr. Brandt is dead than you have been.”

White's baffled gaze darted from his sister back to Frank.

“She thinks you hired me to convince her he's dead,” he explained.

White ran a trembling hand over his face and belatedly thought to remove his hat. “I've told you never to let anyone in the house, Edna,” he said, as if speaking to a disobedient child. “Where is Miss Holly?”

“She wasn't feeling well, so I told her to lie down. And what are you doing home at this hour? Have you been dismissed from your job?”

Frank thought he detected a spark of annoyance in White, but he managed to control it. “Mrs. Abernathy saw you letting a strange man into the house. She telephoned my office.”

“Mrs. Abernathy should mind her own business.”

Frank figured Mrs. Abernathy was the same kind of neighbor as Mrs. Ellsworth.

White sighed. “Please go to your room, Edna. I'll talk to you about this later.”

“And apologize, too, I hope,” she said. “Good day, Mr. Malloy, and I encourage you to find a more honest way to make your living.”

She marched out, leaving Frank staring after her in amazement. When she was gone, he turned to White. “Does she really believe Dr. Brandt is still alive?”

“Yes, just as she believes he was in love with her. What are you doing here, Mr. Malloy?” he asked wearily.

“Like I said, I'm investigating Dr. Brandt's murder.”

“And you think Edna killed him?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, I know a man killed him, a man who thought Dr. Brandt had harmed his daughter.”

White sighed wearily. “Then you've wasted your time here. Our father died years before Edna met Dr. Brandt, so he couldn't be the killer. If that's all you need to know, I should get back to my office before I really do get dismissed.”

“Could I ask you a couple more questions, Mr. White? I'm trying to understand what happened with your sister and the doctor.”

“I've been trying to understand it for years, Mr. Malloy. What makes you think a few questions would be enough?”

“I'm sure you're right, but can you at least tell me what you do know? It might help me find Dr. Brandt's killer.”

“Old Maid's disease,” he said bitterly. “That's what they called it. I took her to another doctor when she made a fool of herself over Dr. Brandt. He said it happens when a woman is lonely. She misinterprets the simplest kindness as an expression of affection, and then she begins to imagine all kinds of things that aren't true and refuses to see what really is true.”

“She thinks Dr. Brandt is still alive, and that she still meets him.”

“I know, even though she never leaves the house. Believe me, if she did, my neighbors or her companion, Miss Holly, would tell me.”

“By the way, Miss Holly drinks. That's why she's laying down.”

White ran a hand over his face again. “I know that, too. It's been hard to find a companion for Edna since my wife . . .”

His voice caught, and Frank felt a wash of pity for him. “Your wife passed away?”

“No,” he said, suddenly angry. “She's very much alive, but she left me. She wouldn't live here with Edna, so she moved back to her parents' house. She wants me to put Edna in an asylum, but I can't put her in a place like that. She's my only living relative. She spent her youth nursing our mother who was an invalid. She was the sweetest, most loving sister you could imagine, and she still is, except for this one thing. I can't abandon her.”

“Can't you talk to her? Can't someone reason with her?” Frank asked.

“Don't you think I've tried?” he cried, his composure broken at last. “Nothing will convince her. Even when Dr. Brandt himself told her he didn't love her, she decided he was only being gallant, that he didn't want her to waste her life waiting for him when he might never get a divorce. She won't even believe he's dead!”

“Do you think Brandt ever encouraged her? Or that he took advantage of her?”

“At first I thought he must have. Edna was so certain he loved her. I just couldn't believe she'd imagined something like that, but when I confronted him . . . Well, it was obvious he'd done nothing of the kind. Then he did everything he could to discourage her, but that only seemed to make it worse.”

“You said you took her to another doctor,” Frank prodded.

“Yes. He's the one who explained it to me. It happens more often than you'd imagine, and often to doctors. There's nothing to be done for it except to keep Edna locked away where she won't embarrass herself or anyone else.”

“Did Dr. Brandt ever try to cure her?”

“Except for trying to reason with her, no. He didn't know what else to do, but he told me he was going to try to find out everything he could about this . . . this problem. He wanted to help Edna. I think he felt guilty, as if he'd somehow brought it on. But then I read in the paper that he'd been killed.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I thought that would end it. I thought Edna would be cured then.” He shook his head. “I've really got to go back to my office now, Mr. Malloy.”

Frank thanked White for his help and took his leave. As he turned up his collar against the wintry wind, he thought about the depth of loneliness necessary to drive a woman to lose touch with reality. Edna White seemed the perfect candidate. Even if she'd attracted suitors when she was young, which she probably hadn't, she'd been too busy taking care of her sick mother. Then a handsome man comes into her life and is kind to her when she's sick and frightened. Any woman could be excused for developing tender feelings for him. She might even daydream about what it would be like if he returned her feelings.

But Edna White wasn't just any woman. Her loneliness was greater, and her needs enormous. Only an ardent and devoted lover could satisfy her, so she made one up and gave him Tom Brandt's face. How would the good doctor have felt to be the object of so much passion from such a pathetic creature?

Frank tried to imagine Brandt's consternation and frustration. No wonder he had determined to find a way to free Edna White from this spell of her own creation. Of course, Frank couldn't be sure that's what he had done, but from what Albert White had said, it seemed likely. Frank might even be able to confirm it if he could speak with the other three women or their families. At least it would explain why he'd sought out the other women in the first place.

Now Frank would, too.

 
 
S
ARAH COULDN'T QUITE BELIEVE SHE'D JUST HEARD MRS. Upchurch declare that she'd be happy when her husband was dead. She'd known many women who probably had such feelings, but none of them would ever dare speak them aloud, especially to a total stranger. “My husband was murdered,” Sarah said to answer Mrs. Upchurch's original question about how her husband had died. Usually, she didn't mention the cause of Tom's death, but it seemed no topic was too outrageous for this encounter.

“Murdered?” Mrs. Upchurch echoed in amazement. “How awful! I'm so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn't,” Sarah agreed. “He was on a call one evening, and someone killed him in an alley.”

“That's dreadful,” Mrs. Upchurch exclaimed. “And terribly unfair. He sounds like the kind of man who should have lived so his work could continue. Why do people like him die young while men like—” For once, she caught herself before she said something even more outrageous.

Sarah knew instinctively that Mrs. Upchurch would have named her own husband, but why would she be so happy to see him dead that she would say so out loud to a stranger?

Before she could decide, the intimidated maid returned with a tray of steaming coffee and small cakes. When she had fled, Mrs. Upchurch served them both. By then Sarah had regained her composure. Surrendering to an ignoble curiosity, she chose her next words carefully. “Your husband seems to have a successful ministry at the church.”

“Oh, yes, he's been very successful,” she agreed readily enough. “The church membership has tripled since he came, and the offerings have increased more than that.”

“I meant the work he does with those young boys who have no fathers.”

“Are you really interested in that, Mrs. Brandt?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

“Yes. I told you, I'm hoping to learn something I can use at the mission where I volunteer.”

“Don't bother. Nothing that Oliver does here will help you there,” Mrs. Upchurch said.

Perhaps she'd been involved with too many murder investigations, but Sarah decided not to allow conventional manners to stop her from finding out what she wanted to know. “You don't seem to have much respect for your husband's work, Mrs. Upchurch. Some people might think you're jealous.”

Instead of being offended, as most people would, Mrs. Upchurch brightened. “That's what they told you, isn't it? They think I'm jealous of those boys because I don't have children of my own. Do you have children, Mrs. Brandt? You said you had no son, but do you—”

“My husband and I had no children,” Sarah confirmed, too uncertain yet to speak of Aggie as her own.

“I wanted children, Mrs. Brandt. I wanted a houseful. I hated being an only child with no parents. I wanted a huge family so I'd never be alone again. That's why I married Oliver. Oh, I suppose I loved him, too, in the beginning at least. It's hard to remember now. But I needed a husband to father my children, so I married him, but he denied me those children I wanted so desperately.”

“You can't be certain why you haven't been blessed,” Sarah said, wincing inwardly when she remembered how Mrs. Upchurch had mocked that particular word. “It's not really anyone's fault.”

“You don't understand,” she insisted. “He didn't even
try
to give me a child. You were married. You must know what I mean.”

“I'm also a midwife,” Sarah said, not certain she believed her hostess. It was a shocking claim, so she wanted Mrs. Upchurch to know that she wouldn't be easily convinced.

Amazingly, Mrs. Upchurch grinned again, showing all of her small, even teeth. “Then you know. You understand. You
do
understand what I'm saying, don't you? My husband has never known me, not that way, not the way a man knows his wife.”

“Mrs. Upchurch, are you sure you want to tell me this? You hardly know me and—”

“That's the very reason I
can
tell you. Don't you see? I could hardly say these things to any of the ladies I meet at church. They'd never believe me, and they'd think I was crazy or lying to turn them against Oliver. He tells everyone I'm insane, so no one listens to me. That's what he told you, too, isn't it?” she challenged.