Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) (25 page)

The florist didn’t seem to think the request was suspicious. He checked the pages of his order book until he came to the entry. “Here it is. Roland Allworthy. He came in right after the shop opened on April twenty fourth. He wanted a bouquet delivered later that same morning.” The florist looked up from the book. “Do you know who he is?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Evangeline waved her hand airily. “That’s Mr. Allworthy’s nephew. A young blond gentleman, if I’m not mistaken?”

The florist nodded. “Yes, that’s what he looked like all right. When I wrote down his name and saw the address the flowers were going to, I just figured he was Mr. Allworthy’s son and had been sent to take care of the order in his place. I remember telling him to give my regards to his father. No wonder he looked at me so strangely.”

“Well, I’m glad I cleared up that little misunderstanding.” Evangeline laughed as she turned to go.

Halfway out the door, she heard the florist ask hopefully, “Do you know when Mr. Allworthy might be back to place another order?”

She turned and answered softly. “I don’t think he will. The young lady was very ill, you see. That’s why he was sending her flowers so often, and... and... well, she has since passed away.”

“Oh dear!” Mr. Witherspoon exclaimed as Evangeline closed the shop door behind her.

Chapter 23—The Guilty Party

Freddie loped up the stairs to Evangeline’s townhouse two at a time and knocked impatiently at the door. He was bursting at the seams to tell her what he’d discovered at the Evermore Club and had been unable to reach her by telephone. His impatience turned to surprise when the door was opened by Jack bearing a silver tray and, on it, a glass of champagne.

“I’ll trade you, Mr. Freddie.” The major domo laughed good-humoredly. “Your hat and coat for what I’ve got on this here tray.”

Freddie took the glass suspiciously while Jack disposed of his outerwear. “What’s the occasion?”

Jack shrugged. “One of Miss Engie’s fancies. She told me to open a bottle of the best we had in the cellar against your arrival. She said it was some kind of celebration on account of you two had got your quarry at bay. That’s the words she used for it, anyhow.”

“But she doesn’t even know what I found out today!”

Jack ushered Freddie into the drawing room where Evangeline sat ensconced in front of the fireplace. “There’s some things as she can guess, I suppose.” He closed the double-doors behind him and retreated to another part of the house. The clock on the mantel was just chiming seven.

“Ah there you are, Freddie. Just as I expected.”

“Just as you expected?” the young man echoed. “You didn’t know I was coming!”

“It was elementary logic that you would, dear boy, and that when you did we would have cause for celebration.” Evangeline refilled her half-empty glass and sat in amused contemplation of her friend’s befuddlement.

“How do you figure that?”

“When I returned from my own inquiries, Jack said that you’d been telephoning persistently all afternoon but didn’t leave any message.”

Freddie carefully placed his still-full glass on the coffee table and threw himself on the sofa. “And you inferred what?”

“I inferred that you were consumed with a desire to blurt out everything you’d learned at the Evermore Club. Taken together with what I discovered at the florist, I think we can safely say who the culprit is.”

“But I haven’t said a blessed thing yet!”

“I will give you leave to speak presently, but first a toast.” Evangeline rose from her chair, glass in hand, and strolled toward her guest.

Freddie stood and skeptically raised his glass.

“To justice triumphant,” Evangeline proposed.

Freddie grinned in spite of himself. “To justice,” he confirmed, clinking glasses and finally sampling the contents. “Now are you going to let me tell you what I found out?”

Evangeline resumed her chair by the fire. “In a nutshell, and much as I hate to admit it since it destroys my original theory, I’d say you found that Roland had a perfectly good alibi for the night Nora was murdered.”

Freddie felt the wind go out of his sails. “Well, yes, that’s the gist of it.”

Apparently not wishing to disappoint her friend too severely, Evangeline sat forward in an attempt to mimic an attitude of rapt attention. “But you must tell me the details! I wait in breathless anticipation!”

“Well, you needn’t lay it on that thick,” Freddie grumped.

Evangeline smiled, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the firelight, but said nothing more.

Freddie decided that he could only stand on his dignity for so long when there was a good story to be told. After one martyred sigh, he gave in and regaled Evangeline with everything he saw and heard at the Evermore Soeurs’ house of ill repute.

“Quite a fascinating place, I must say,” she commented when he had finished. “But you said the card game started at ten o’clock. What time do the police think Nora drowned?”

Freddie briefly consulted his notebook. “They thought it was some time around midnight.”

Evangeline decided to play devil’s advocate. “Could they have been wrong about the time of death? If it happened earlier than midnight, couldn’t Roland have had time to dispatch her and still get to the poker tournament?”

Freddie squinted in the firelight as he scanned back through his notes. “It looks as if Thaddeus Sparrow, the night watchman, made his first evening rounds outside the building at nine o’clock. He didn’t see anything suspicious. Even if, for argument’s sake, we say that the earliest Nora could have died was some time between nine and nine-thirty, it would have been impossible.”

“Impossible?” Evangeline echoed.

“Impossible for Roland to get from the north side of town to the Evermore Club in time. It’s down at
Twenty Second Street
. He would have needed to sprout a pair of wings to travel that distance in under half an hour. Minna Evermore said he was already at the club by nine-thirty.”

“Well, that settles it then. Much as I loathe conceding defeat, I was wrong about Roland. Especially in light of what Mr. Witherspoon told me.”

“It was Martin who sent her all those flowers, wasn’t it?”

“All except the last. More champagne?” Evangeline asked sweetly as Freddie’s jaw dropped.

“But who...” He trailed off in surprise as she quietly refilled his glass.

“Roland did.”

“Roland! But if the last flowers were from him, that must mean he killed her! I don’t understand.” The young man’s elation was rapidly turning to frustration.

Still unruffled, Evangeline replied, “I beg to disagree. Those flowers are the best proof that he did not kill her.”

Freddie sat dumbfounded, waiting for an explanation.

Evangeline bestowed a brief smile of pity on her friend. “April twenty fourth was her birthday.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Freddie searched through his notebook for the passage. “Sophie mentioned something about that.”

“I must say, lack of verbal originality seems to run in the family when it comes to courting females. The card from Roland read ‘Happy Birthday from your greatest admirer!’”

“Which means?” The young man still was not convinced the bouquet was conclusive proof of innocence.

“There was no bouquet from Martin that day.”

Freddie remained silent, uncomprehending.

Evangeline sighed and pressed on. “The only reason why Martin would have failed to send a bouquet to his mistress bright and early on her birthday, thereby risking her displeasure, would have been if he knew...”

“Knew what?”

“That she was already dead,” Evangeline concluded simply.

“Oh.” Freddie felt a mite sheepish for having missed something so obvious.

“Since Roland no longer worked at Hyperion by the end of April, it’s unlikely he would have heard the news of Nora’s death until some time during the afternoon of the twenty fourth, long after the flowers were delivered.” Evangeline rose and began to stir the fire, which was beginning to die.

“Let me get that.” Freddie offered to help while the lady stood back contemplatively, watching the flames slowly spring back to life.

“Something else to consider is that Roland has a whole crowd of people who can provide him with an alibi for the night of the murder. Martin’s only alibi is Desmond. I find that fact to be an even more significant indication of guilt.”

Freddie nodded solemnly as he continued building up the fire. “But what was Martin’s motive for killing her? He doesn’t seem the violent type.”

“I suspect that the picture you found in the safety deposit box may have been intended as a gift from Nora to Roland, and Martin somehow got hold of it. Maybe she brought it to work with her on April twenty third intending to present it to Roland, and Martin found it in her desk. The idea that Nora preferred the nephew to the uncle might have infuriated him. Perhaps Martin confronted Nora about it that night. While he might not be violent under ordinary circumstances, I can certainly picture him as vindictive if his pride were wounded. Vindictive enough to kill her for her duplicity.”

Freddie rose from the hearth, dusting off his hands and his trousers. He stood before the fire, looking at his friend. “What about Euphemia? Why would Martin kill her?”

Evangeline gazed at him briefly then stared off into space trying to formulate a theory. “I remember the way she looked at her husband after the scene Bayne caused the night of the séance. Coming so soon on the heels of the Hyperion strike, for which she must have held Desmond responsible, it would have been the last straw. I thought there would be hell to pay after we all left that evening. I’m sure Euphemia gave Martin an ultimatum to get rid of Bayne or else. That put him in an impossible situation. If he sent Desmond packing, then Mr. Bayne would no doubt expose Martin’s whereabouts on the night of April twenty third. The cat would properly be out of the bag with respect to Martin’s liaison with Nora—not to mention the possibility of a murder charge. He stood in grave danger of losing not only Euphemia’s fortune, as I originally thought, but his life as well.”

Freddie sat up eagerly. “So he had a perfect motive for getting rid of Euphemia.”

“Quite.

Freddie pondered Evangeline’s theory for a few moments. “Yes, everything fits nicely together. Now all we have to do is convince the sheriff and the
Chicago
police that our theory is right.”

The lady sighed. “And we have to do that quickly. We’re running out of time. I’ve been sending messages to Sheriff Weston all week to keep him up to date on our discoveries. I just don’t know how long he can continue to hold Serafina in the Shore Cliff jail. In fact, he may have transferred her already to the jail in
Waukegan
. Then the poor thing will have to go through an arraignment hearing, and it will only get worse for her from there.”

A note of concern crept into Freddie’s voice. “What can we do to wrap this up posthaste?”

Evangeline shrugged matter-of-factly, as if there were only one possible strategy. “We confront Martin and offer him a choice. Either he turns himself in to the police and confesses, which will probably make things go easier for him with the law, or we will expose him ourselves.”

Freddie frowned. “But, Engie, what if he doesn’t go along with the idea?”

“May I remind you that we now have the blackmail evidence that Bayne was using to control Martin.”

“And?”

“And, we’re in a position to call the tune now. Between the picture of Nora with his surname on it and the florist who can identify him sending flowers to her, there’s the suggestion that he was involved with her. We could drag Bayne in and force him to testify that he saw Martin kill Nora or be faced with a charge of accessory to murder.

“That ought to make him sing,” Freddie observed.

“If we can make a convincing case that Martin killed Nora, then that means we can establish his motive for killing Euphemia in order to conceal the first murder. In light of all these facts, I doubt that he would think his best interests were being served by denying everything. There’s too much circumstantial evidence against him.”

“But what if he panics and runs?”

“We won’t give him time to do that.” Evangeline smiled cryptically as she rang the bell for Jack.

Freddie raised a quizzical eyebrow.

When the caretaker arrived, she said, “Jack, prepare yourself. We have a social call to make this evening. I’ve heard that Mr. Allworthy has returned to town, and I long to pay him a visit.”

“Will you want me to fetch the carriage, Miss Engie?” the major domo asked.

“No, Jack, I’ll want you to fetch your revolver. We can walk the distance. It’s only a few blocks.”

Freddie winced at the mention of firearms.

Jack flashed a pleased grin, displaying his gold front tooth in the dim parlor light. “What, just the one, Miss Engie?”

Evangeline laughed. “I hate to disappoint you, Jack, but I think the shotgun might be a bit too obvious. One weapon for you should suffice, since I’ll be armed as well.”

The caretaker nodded and left, humming a happy little ditty as he went off in search of his cap and pistol.

Failing to notice her friend’s dismay at the turn events had taken, Evangeline began to pace and think out loud. “Now which will it be? The colt or the derringer? Six-shooters are such awkward weapons for a lady, really. They never fit properly in a handbag, and when I try slipping one in a skirt pocket, it invariably tears the seam. A pity you don’t travel armed, Freddie. I, myself, never go anywhere unprotected. Yes, I think we can hold him at gunpoint until the police are summoned, should he prove to be uncooperative. Now where did I put my reticule? I’m sure the gun’s already in it. I know I left it around here somewhere—”

She stopped her search abruptly and regarded her friend with exasperation. “Don’t just stand there gaping! Fetch your hat. It’s past eight o’clock and we still have a murderer to catch this evening.”