Whispers Beyond the Veil (17 page)

M
iss Proulx pushed open the door to the police station, bringing in the scent of the sea and something delicious. It seemed to be coming from the towel-lined basket grasped in her small hands. Yancey hadn't had time to eat since before Leander Stickney's body was discovered. His stomach gave a loud grumble, and Miss Proulx smiled at him and hurried to his desk.

“It sounds as though I am right on time.” She plunked the basket right under Yancey's nose. “When Mrs. Doyle heard I was coming here she asked me to deliver this to you. Gingerbread, I think she said. It certainly smells like it.” She peeled back the tea towel to reveal moist, dense squares of cake with a glossy, dark sheen to the tops.

Yancey leaned forward and breathed deeply. Mrs. Doyle knew how much he loved gingerbread. He was quite certain there was a reason behind her gift that he wouldn't be happy to discover. Preserving a professional demeanor was the best way to deal with Miss Proulx. His stomach betrayed him again with another rumble. Her smile broadened and he lost his patience.

“Please convey my thanks to Mrs. Doyle. Now, if you could get on with the reason for your visit, I would appreciate it. I'm sure you haven't forgotten I'm in the middle of a murder investigation and you are a suspect.”

“That's why I'm here.”

“About the murder?”

“Not directly. I am here about the pickpocket who gifted me with this lump on my head the moment I stepped foot in Old Orchard.” Miss Proulx winced dramatically as she reached up under her hat and appeared to touch her head.

“I thought you remembered nothing of the incident.”

“Memory can be such a fickle thing.”

“Unreliable, too, I often find. Especially in the case of some witnesses.”

“Nonetheless, I felt it was my duty to alert you that mine has returned.”

“You expect me to believe your memory has flooded back completely without explanation?”

“What reason would I have to lie about such a thing?”

“Perhaps to lead the investigation into Mr. Stickney's murder away from the Hotel Belden and down avenues which are more to your liking.”

“I did not come here to be insulted. I am more than happy to take Mrs. Doyle's basket along to someone else who would appreciate it. Like that nice young man over there.” She nodded toward Officer Lewis, whose uniform hung loosely on his slight frame. “He looks in need of some extra nourishment.”

“Since you're already here, please share all that you have spontaneously remembered.”

“It was a man who assaulted me.”

“I know that, Miss Proulx, based on Henry Goodwin's testimony. He gave us a complete description of a short man with sandy hair, a pleasant expression, and bright blue eyes. You needn't have troubled yourself to come down here and tell me something I already knew.” Yancey stood and reached his hand to the basket. “Now, if there is nothing else, I must return to my work.”

“But that isn't at all what the man who assaulted me looked like.”

“You are saying that your description does not tally with young Henry's?”

“Have you ever heard of a young woman bashing a stranger over the head with a parasol because his visage was so pleasant?” she asked. Yancey sat back down and reached for his pencil.

“I cannot say that I have,” he said. “It was a unique experience.”

“For myself as well, I can assure you. Now, what do you suppose could have provoked such a forceful response?”

“I could not possibly offer a scenario where a well-bred young woman would be moved to such an act.” Yancey felt a twinge of something that might be guilt as Miss Proulx's face clouded over and threatened to storm.

Before she could respond, Chief Hurley and Jelly Roll emerged from the chief's office. Miss Proulx offered the chief a demure smile, then turned back to Yancey.

“Good manners have nothing to do with abject terror. The man who accosted me was a fearsome picture of wrath. His eyes were alight with a murderous rage and his grip upon my gown was so savage as to make me fear for the loss of things more valuable than a few coins and an old letter.”

“So you think I should be on the lookout for a savage someone who gives the appearance of murderous rage?”

“I think you should be glad of any help the public is willing to provide since you haven't solved the murder of Mr. Stickney or the problems of pickpocketing in Old Orchard.” At that, Jelly Roll whispered something to the chief, who nodded, then crossed the room to stand before Miss Proulx.

“Miss Proulx, please accept my apologies on behalf of my officer. The murder investigation has added to our burdens enormously and we are grateful for whatever help the public can provide.” He turned to Officer Yancey. “Have you taken down a detailed description?”

“She hasn't given one that can be of value when out scouring the town for criminals. Unless you, sir, know what a murderous savage rage looks like.”

“He was taller than I am and had dark hair. He wasn't well dressed but neither was he dirty. His clothes were just a bit shabby, really.”

“Did you see his eye color?” Chief Hurley asked.

“I can't say that I remember that clearly but if I had to guess I would say brown, considering how dark his hair was.”

“Did he speak to you when he accosted you?” the chief asked.

“No, he just stepped straight up to me and made a grab for my handbag. The look in his eyes was enough to start my teeth chattering.” Miss Proulx looked straight at Chief Hurley and added a little lip wobble to give weight to her words. Yancey barely stifled a rude noise that could rightly be interpreted as disbelief. “I've never been so frightened in all my life.” She widened her eyes so far Yancey worried they'd jump out of her head.

The chief tsk-tsked and turned to Yancey. “I've been telling you this pickpocketing situation was dangerous. I want you to make it a top priority. We can't have young ladies afraid to walk the streets of Old Orchard.” Miss Proulx batted her eyelashes at the chief, and Yancey felt his jaw clenching so hard one of his teeth wiggled.

“Thank you for taking me seriously, sir. Since you seem to have the matter in hand, I'd best get back to the hotel. Things have been unsettled all day, as I'm sure you can imagine.” Miss Proulx pointed at the basket. “Enjoy the treats and please give my regards to your mother and sister.” With a dazzling smile for the chief and Jelly Roll, she turned to the door. Yancey's irritation grew as Officer Lewis hurried to open it for her.

The chief waved to Miss Proulx's retreating form and then turned a scowl on Yancey.

“I want you to get on this immediately. Nothing is more important.”

“So you want me to set aside the murder investigation in order to look into the attack on Miss Proulx?”

“I'm not sure if you are being deliberately obtuse or if your intellect is truly unequal to the task of a police investigation. It should be clear to you that the pickpocket and the murderer are one and the same.”

“Even if that were so, sir, there is very little to go on in finding the man Miss Proulx claims to have seen. Taller than herself, with dark hair and a workingman's wardrobe. How would you have me begin to find him in a town teeming with just such men?”

“You missed the crucial information, Yancey. Miss Proulx has told you exactly where to look.”

“I am afraid I am at a loss, sir,” Officer Yancey said, consulting his notebook.

“She said the man was a savage, filled with a murderous rage.” Chief Hurley smiled at Yancey and he felt a shadow flicker across his heart. It was a smile that took pleasure in the suffering of others. “I suggest you get over to the Indian camp and make an arrest.”

E
ven with so much on my mind it was hard not to be distracted by the roar of the sea and the happy clamor of the crowds as I made my way back to the hotel. All around me throngs of merrymakers and holiday visitors clogged the streets and slowed my passage. I was so taken with people watching and admiring the fashions and the frolicking I was oblivious to anyone calling my name until he was right beside me. Without warning, the sound of Mr. Ayers's voice filled my ear. Despite the warm sun on my face a shiver skittered across my scalp.

“Miss Proulx, how fortunate I feel to have come upon you so serendipitously.” Mr. Ayers attempted to blind me with a radiant smile.

“We seem to encounter each other at regular intervals, do we not?” I hoped he could hear the sarcasm in my voice but if he had, he gave no indication of it.

“Since the fates conspire to bring us together, Miss Proulx, I'd like to turn this moment of privacy to our mutual benefit. If you will permit me to accompany you to your destination we might discuss a matter I have in mind along the way.” Without waiting
for a response, he placed his hand beneath my elbow and matched his pace to my own. Bending low, he said, “Smile, Miss Proulx. How can we speak freely if every person we pass stops to ask if you need to be rid of me?” I felt the pressure on my arm increase enough to be sure it was a threat and decided it best if I heard him out as far from the hotel as possible.

In the crowd there might be many eyes and ears but they would be far less likely to be trained on me than if we were inside the walls of the Belden. I forced a smile to my face and turned my head to look at him.

“I am not going very far, so you had best take advantage of my attention whilst it's available. What do you wish to say to me?”

“Wouldn't you like to hazard a guess?”

“I'm afraid I could not possibly do so.”

“Certainly a smart girl such as yourself should have some inkling as to my intentions.” When I didn't offer a guess he continued. “Very well, I'll just tell you, then, shall I?”

“I'm afraid you must. I have no appetite for guessing.”

“No appetite perhaps, but certainly you have a gift for it. I wish to use your talent for persuasion to further my business interests.”

“Talent for persuasion? I am still at a loss.”

“Very well, allow me to be direct. I wish you to use your influence with the Velmont sisters. They are very wealthy and I want you to advise them during your séance sessions to invest in a venture in which I have a controlling interest.”

“And why would I do a thing like that?”

“Come now, Miss Proulx. Or should I say Miss Prideaux or would you prefer Miss Palmer? Perhaps Miss Parker? Shall I go on?” He drew me closer and bent his mouth to my ear. “Your
name may have changed but your face is the same from all the handbills and snake oil bottles that bear your image. Your father certainly was one for getting the word out about his little medical miracle worker, now, wasn't he?”

My heart clutched and thumped. My stomach thrashed. My ears buzzed and even my sense of smell felt off-kilter. As much as I did not desire Mr. Ayers to touch me, if he had chosen that moment to release my arm I believe I would have fainted dead away right there in the street. Still, there was no reason to think he knew about Johnny.

“Even if what you are saying about me is true, why would I risk the reputation of the hotel by conducting fraudulent readings?”

“Because I know why you left Canada in such a hurry.”

“I can't imagine what you're talking about.”

“Perhaps this will aid your memory.” Mr. Ayers withdrew a small black book from his jacket pocket. “I do so like to put the time on a train to good use.” He thumbed through the pages and, finding what he sought, ripped it out and handed it to me. “You can keep that as a reminder. I can always draw another from memory.”

There, in smudged charcoal, were the scenes that haunted me every time I closed my eyes, every time I didn't deliberately crowd them from my thoughts. Johnny smiling, the Invigorizer strapped to his chest. My father urging me to action with an impatient wave. My own hand at the controls. My face clearly visible as I bent over Johnny's body sprawled upon the straw. Seeing the tragedy, there in black and white brought back such painful memories and made me all the more aware I hadn't been able to openly mourn Johnny's death. Still, it was a collection of drawings, not of
photographs. There must still be room for doubt. I raised my eyebrows and pointed to the book.

“While I will say you are a talented artist I won't say this is proof of anything besides your unbridled imagination.”

“You are a cool one, Miss Proulx, I'll give you that.” Mr. Ayers smiled at me with something that looked like admiration. “If it's proof you want, it's proof you'll have.” He riffled through the sketchbook and retrieved from between its pages a folded piece of paper. I was quite ashamed of myself for the way my hand trembled as I reached for it.

“More scribblings?” I asked.

“Of a sort. It's the bill of sale. I had arranged to deliver it to your father at the demonstration tent the morning of the murder.” He smiled at me again, this time looking like a wolf baring its teeth. I unfolded the paper and looked it over carefully.

“This is a bill for over four hundred dollars.”

“He did say he wanted them all.”

“There's nothing to tie this to my father or to me.”

“Your father really believed the Invigorizers were going to be the start of a whole new life for him,” he said. “Take a look at whose signature is on the bottom, acknowledging receipt of the Invigorizers.” He pointed to a flourishing scrawl at the bottom of the sheet. I recognized Father's style of handwriting in the signature but the name startled me. He had abandoned his self-imposed rules and truly had fallen for his own con.

“Ivory Proulx,” I said.

“Yes. He signed it with his real name,” Mr. Ayers said. “Did you happen to note the name of the purchaser listed at the top?” I forced myself to look where he indicated.

“Ruby Proulx.” My upper lip beaded with sweat and I wasn't
sure if I felt more frightened or angry. “I never placed such an order.”

“Your father felt it best to amend the original bill of sale. When I caught up with him hitching up his wagon and explained to him the price had doubled to ensure I kept what I had seen to myself, he mentioned you were the one with better prospects.”

“He told you to come after me?”

“It was the only sensible thing to do. He convinced me that your wealthy aunt would be in a position to help you repay me.” Mr. Ayers plucked the paper from my quaking hand and tucked it back into his pocket. “He said if I hurried I could catch the same train you would take to Old Orchard. That's exactly what I did.”

“You make it all sound so easy.”

“It was. Almost as easy as it would be to convince the police that someone like yourself, who has already killed once, is responsible for the death of Mr. Stickney. I think this paper and a telegram to New Brunswick would be all it would take to slip a noose over your lovely neck.”

“So if I convince the Velmont sisters to invest in your sham company, the debt will be paid and you'll give me the invoice?”

“Precisely. You'll have ownership of the evidence tying you to Johnny's death and I'll have my money.”

“Why do you think they'd listen to me about matters of finance?”

“I don't. But they will listen to advice from their dearly departed father flowing through you. If he were to tell them to invest in my company, they would certainly do so.”

“And you think I would save my own skin by swindling two little old ladies?”

“I am certain of it. It is not as though you are a woman of scruples. After all, how many little old ladies did you sell your father's miracle cures to? How many did you encourage to seek relief in a bottle of empty promises rather than the advice of a doctor?” He released my arm and I stumbled backward and sagged against a tree trunk. “I see you need time to think. I'll say my good-byes and will await your decision.” He tipped his hat in my direction and strode away.