CHAPTER SIX #2
Where could Daphne have put it? She hoped in a safe place—wherever that may be.
She gazed around the room with its heavy furniture hand-carved in Italy, kilim carpets, and yards of floral fabric hanging in the windows.
All of it glowed pink and red, gilded with gold like an August rose garden.
The sadness descended, stifling her dismay over the missing folio and her current situation.
“You didn’t find it,” Day stated flatly. She’d forgotten he stood watching.
“I don’t see it. But she might have put it somewhere out of sight for safekeeping.” Safe from prying eyes. Loath to leave, she opened a drawer, but this didn’t feel quite right. Leaving it behind didn’t feel right, either.
She turned in desperation to Detective Day. “Help me, for goodness’ sake.”
Though he raised his eyebrows, he bent to the task, and they searched diligently through a small bookcase, Daphne’s white and gold writing desk, the armoire, and an unlocked trunk of outdated gowns of every hue but black.
Frustration and fear filled her, and she swallowed hard before they showed in her face. “It’s not here.” Perhaps she wasn’t as successful at hiding her emotions as she’d hoped, for Day observed her without comment for a moment. Only a moment.
“Mrs. Gladney,” he said in an interrogatory way. “How did you learn of Mrs. Van Wyn’s death?”
“My husband came home very late that night from the City and told me.”
“If he was in Manhattan City, how did he hear of it?”
She narrowed her eyes, the surge of anger twisting her mouth tight.
Finally, she said, “Gil left the ferry and went to the stable to get our horse and carriage. The doctor who attended Daphne also stables his horses there. His groom told Gil what happened when he returned the horses after bringing the doctor home.”
His neutral expression didn’t change, but he nodded. “Mr. Van Wyn said your husband has business problems, some kind of financial set back.”
The wind went out of her, like a blow to the stomach. “Of course, he did,” she snapped.
The detective shifted his weight from foot to foot, making her think of a boxer squaring up. “Look. We can have this talk now or later we can come to your house—on Cranberry Street, yes? And have a talk with your husband present. I ought do it that way, but I’d like to hear you speak for yourself.”
She swallowed the hard lump of fear that had risen at the mention of him speaking with Gil, hardly believing he wouldn’t if she talked to him right now. It seemed oddly fair and somewhat progressive of Mr. Day to give her this chance, though it made her wary, too.
“My husband’s business partner left town with quite a bit of our money. We reported it to the police a few weeks ago.”
“Ah, the Caldwell-Jones case? Interesting. You be careful what you say to Van Wyn, then. He knew about the broken lock on the door, but so did you. Where were you last Thursday night?”
“Home, answering letters, reading.” Not knowing she was about to lose another loved one forever.
“And your husband was out all night?”
“Yes, I told you, Gil was out.” She’d worried herself half to death about him.
“Servants living in?” he asked, relentlessly pressing on. “A sister to stay with you while Mr. Gladney was away?”
A flicker of alarm touched her. “No, no one.”
“Anyone come to the door, your neighbors?”
“No.”
“No witness can verify you were home during that time. Your husband’s finances have taken a devastating blow. You knew about the busted lock. You have an intimate knowledge of the house and its contents. Do you see how this might make me believe the thief could be you?”
Leona wouldn’t trust a woman who’d just broken into the residence of the recently deceased, either. Desperation squeezed her again. She’d earned the growing distrust in his eyes.
“Mr. Van Wyn doesn’t know this. For all he knows, Gil was home and can vouch for me.”
“Or is he your partner in the crime?” Day didn’t appear happy as he spoke the words. “Why did he go to Manhattan City—do you know?”
She bristled at this. “Of course, I know. He meets with bankers and other businessmen in order to work out a way to pay for Henry’s crime so he can keep his business.
Sometimes he stays late in Manhattan City or misses the last ferry” Anger pulsed through her, head to toe.
“We did not steal Daphne’s jewelry or—.” She took a few deep breaths to calm herself.
How foolish of her to think their situation couldn’t get any worse.
“I meant where does your husband stay when he’s in Manhattan City? He has a club, I take it?”
“The Pinnacle Club,” she forced out. She knew her husband to be innocent, but somehow answering felt like a betrayal.
“Does your husband have financial dealings with Benedict?” Day hadn’t written anything down, completely different to the detective they’d talked to when they’d reported Henry’s embezzlement.
“That’s—” she was about to say absurd but realized it might be possible. It might even explain Benedict’s animosity beyond the need to find answers to his grandmother’s death. “I honestly don’t know. That’s a question for Mr. Van Wyn.”
“Of course,” he said. “But—”
“I’m worried about Audrey, Detective Day. What if she witnessed the crime and is hiding, in fear for her life?”
His eyes filled with concern, an unexpected warming to the cold blue they’d previously held. “What makes you say that? I was told she’s gone to visit her mother, but no one can agree with which city. Do you know?”
Leona let out a deep breath. “No. But it might be true. So, you must have talked to the other staff? To Timothy and Vera?”
“Yes. It’s how I conduct all my investigations, Mrs. Gladney.”
She pressed her lips together with impatience at the rebuke in his tone.
“We haven’t been able to find Mrs. Van Wyn’s maid, Winifred, however. Have you heard from her?”
“I have not,” Leona replied. Winifred was an uncomplicated young woman with a cheerful and efficient demeanor, and Leona regretted not getting to know her a little better.
He sighed. “We can’t find her, either. Her mother reported her missing to the police.” Day pulled out his watch. He checked it and tucked it back into the pocket of his vest. “I want to warn you to be careful.”
Charlotte’s words, also. And now, two women were missing. “Well, thank you, I think.”
“I’ll get you a cab.”
“I walked. It’s not far.” She glanced around the room for the last time. “I’ll never see her again. And I can’t get used to that.” Something here told the story of Daphne’s final moments, if she could only....
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Day turned the bowler over in his hands, appearing uncomfortable. “It sounds like she was a good woman.”
“She was. I want to help. I know there’s more than you’ll say.”
He appeared taken aback for a moment. “What do you mean?”
She bit her lip, frowning at him. Making sure to keep her voice low, she said, “Mrs. Oran Montgomery, Charlotte, spoke to me this morning about a conversation she had with Mr. Van Wyn. About the jewelry theft and the manner of Daphne’s death.”
He narrowed his sharp blue eyes at her, giving her a head-tilted nod of encouragement.
She darted a glance at the door, watching for Benedict. “We fear her death was not natural. Did the coroner investigate?”
“Of course, he is obliged to. Do you have anything substantial to say or are you repeating gossip?”
“Gossip has led people to suspect me of betraying my friend. I hope they are saying the same—or more—about Benedict Van Wyn.”
“Mrs. Gladney, in every— investigation, each household member, family and friends, even the shop keeper down the street is a suspect. But it takes time to interview everyone involved. Why were you in Audrey Larkins’s room specifically?”
“I want to talk to her. I searched it, thinking she might have left behind something—an address, a postcard, anything.” She took a deep breath, not expecting an answer. “What did the coroner rule?”
“That’s confidential information, madam.”
He didn’t like her asking him questions but something glimmered in the depths of his blue eyes, speculation, but not suspicion. Perhaps he—believed her? He handed her a card. “Will you trust us to handle this investigation with fairness? Promise me not to involve yourself as you have today?”
She couldn’t promise, but his solemn expression told her he meant it.
***
L EONA RETURNED TO THE house on Cranberry Street, her heart still fluttering in her throat.
The brisk walk in the gaslit dusk hadn’t cleared her head at all.
And Gil wasn’t home yet. As she removed her gloves and hung up her coat, Abigail reminded her dinner would be ready at six.
A complicated mix of apprehension and anticipation filled her.
How could she not tell Gil about what’d happened today? But how would she?
“You look a sight, m’um.” Mrs. McCarthy wiped her hands on her spotless apron and approached Leona.
“Do I?” she murmured, distracted by her dilemma.
Mrs. McCarthy turned her toward the door leading to the hall, her hands strong and warm. “Could I run you a warm bath? Or fix your hair before Mr. Gladney gets home? Let me help you? You look done in.”
Her soothing tone penetrated the curtain of anxiety wrapped around Leona. “He is coming home?” She followed Mrs. McCarthy into the hall and stopped in front of the oval mirror on the wall. Her hair was indeed in disarray. She brushed at the dust on her blouse. “Oh, dear, this won’t do.”
“You go on. I’ve water heated for washing up. I’ll bring it to you.” Mrs. McCarthy bustled toward the kitchen.
How could Leona face him tonight with all that happened today? Mrs. McCarthy apparently sensed her hesitation and turned back.
“Are you all right, m’um?”
Why lie? She couldn’t bear it anymore. “More bad news, I’m afraid.”
Mrs. McCarthy made a soft, commiserating sound before turning away to her task.