Chapter 4 #2
“Yes,” the woman said. “But she’s not here now. I think she went to visit relatives.”
Phillip thought briefly of not telling her that her tenant had been murdered but decided against it. “I’m sorry to be the one to let you know, but Miss Button is not visiting relatives.”
“What do you know about it?” the young man said. “Never saw you around here before.”
“I haven’t been here before,” he said and looked at the woman. “Miss Button was found in an apartment on Washington Street with a knife in her chest. She’s dead, ma’am.”
“What?” the woman said, wide-eyed.
“Why would she be down on Washington Street?” the young man asked at the same time.
“She was just here a day or two ago. I heard her upstairs,” the woman said.
“It wasn’t her, ma’am. Would you mind if I took a look at her rooms?”
“What do you mean it wasn’t her?” the woman whispered and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Today is Friday. Miss Button was found dead on Monday. If you heard someone within the last day or two, I don’t think it was her.”
“Who was it? What if they’re still there? Dear Lord!”
“Would you like me to check her rooms?”
“Yes. Oh yes. Please,” she said and pulled a ring of keys from her apron pocket. She took a skeleton key from the hoop with shaking fingers and handed it to him.
He took the key and nodded to her. “I’ll bring it back once I’ve checked that everything is secure.”
The woman thanked him and shut the door on herself and the young man.
Phillip heard the lock slide home and squeezed between the house and the fence until he was in the backyard.
He climbed the steps, pulled his knife, and slid the key into the lock, turning it slowly.
He opened the door and glanced around at the same sort of destruction he’d seen at Timothy’s.
Although there were less items broken, and Phillip imagined the intruder couldn’t be so destructive as to alert the landlady directly below.
The mattress was shredded; clothing from a hanging cupboard and a dresser were on the floor, scattered and some torn.
He began his search in the back of the clothes cupboard, looking for a false floor or back, and moved to a small nightstand beside the bed but found nothing.
There was an elaborate headboard, carved walnut, Phillip guessed, that had been pulled away from the wall with some gouges that looked recent, and not from normal wear.
He searched the thing himself, feeling for grooves or latches.
The kitchen area did not appear to have been searched other than a flour jar that had been overturned.
There was little flour in the pile beside the crockery, and Phillip wondered whether they’d found what they’d been looking for or if they had been spooked and left before their work was complete.
He began searching the kitchen, turning the table on its side as silently as he could and running his fingers over the chairs from the rungs to the backrest. He was nearly ready to give up and return the key to the landlady when he pulled several plates from their shelf and saw a small clock. It was a strange place to put a clock.
Her turned when he heard footsteps on the landing and shoved the clock into his pocket. The landlady opened the door and gasped.
“Dear Lord! Why would someone do this?”
“You mentioned that you thought Miss Button had been visiting relatives. Did she ever mention any names or locations of them?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Unless I still have the note she gave me last summer when she went to visit her sister. I’ll have to look through my papers.”
“If you would, I’d greatly appreciate it if you could forward me that information if you still have it,” Phillip said.
“Don’t even know her next of kin,” the woman said. “They’ll never know she’s dead and gone.”
“I’ll be taking my leave,” Phillip said. “Thank you.”
“Who did you say you were? I never did catch your name. How did you know her?”
“Phillip Brown. I’m at 159 Wolfe Street, if you need to get me a message.”
Phillip hurried out the door before the woman could ask any more questions. He was not prepared to share any details with her before he could prove Timothy innocent.
Phillip took a long nap in the afternoon on the sofa in the parlor, the knit blanket over him, ignoring the chatter and noise from the kitchen, as well as the pounding feet on the stairs just on the other side of the wall from where he slept.
He woke groggy, about dinnertime, sat up, and scratched his chest. Uncle Patrick walked in the room and looked down at him.
“Your hair’s all standing on end.”
“What of it?” Phillip said and ran his hand over his head, realizing he needed a cut and soon.
“I have to talk to you, but now I’ve got to go since you slept so long.”
“I have to take a look at the rooms where Timothy was found and don’t want to go until midnight. I was going to tell you if I’m not home by sunup, come look for me on Washington. Where do you have to be?”
“Miriam’s. She’s cooking.”
“Thought she was a lousy cook.”
“She is, but that’s not why I needed to talk to you. Her and I are getting married. Thought you should know.”
Phillip watched his uncle turn to leave the room. He jumped from the sofa. “Wait a damn second. What did you say?”
“Miriam and me. We’re getting hitched.”
Phillip hurried to the door and shut it before Patrick could leave the room. “You’re marrying her? You’ve done nothing but complain about her for years. I just thought you . . . well . . . liked staying over once in a while.”
Patrick scratched the back of his head. “Well, I do like that part. But dang it all to hell and back, I love the damn woman, and she told me to get a ring or make myself scarce. She was crying like the dickens at the time, and I do hate to see her cry. We’re getting married next month.”
Phillip started to laugh. He couldn’t help himself as he looked at his uncle’s flummoxed face. It was as if Patrick had no control over what he was going to do, and maybe, Phillip thought, maybe he didn’t.
“Congratulations, Uncle!” he said and shook his hand. “But what are we going to do without you here on Wolfe Street?”
“I thought she could move in here,” he said and then laughed at Phillip’s appalled face.
“That’s what you get for making fun. No.
We found a house just down the street from here.
Old man Sheffield’s house. He went to live with his son.
Miriam’s house is small and needs work. She’s looking to sell, and with that and my savings, we’ll have plenty for Sheffield’s. ”
“Good,” Phillip said, truly relieved. “I’m glad you’ll be close by.”
“I told her that. That we needed to be around here. Hell, maybe one of these days I’ll be a great-uncle if you or your sister would ever get married.”
“Don’t think you’re taking Eliza.”
“I just figure I’ll eat here on the way to my job. I’ll starve to death if I have to eat every meal that Miriam cooks.”
“You better tell Sarah. She’s going to miss you something awful.”
“And you won’t?”
Phillip looked at his uncle and put a hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve meant everything to both of us. Neither of us remember Ma and Dad much at all.
You’ve been mother and father to us all of our lives.
Kept us safe. Made sure we stayed right.
I’m going to miss you something terrible, but not enough for Miriam to move in here. ”
Patrick chuckled and swiped his eyes. “Never thought I’d have any little ones. But you’re as much my own as I’d ever want. Couldn’t be prouder of anyone more than I am of you and your sister. Now, go on. Let me out of here. Before you start weeping in truth.”
Phillip sat down on the sofa. Things would be different for them without Uncle Patrick on hand. They would miss him, but neither he or Sarah would begrudge him one second of happiness. He heard shouting in the kitchen and then sobs. Uncle must have told Sarah.