CHAPTER EIGHT #2
The Teaberry sisters were usually the first to arrive, as they hailed from nearby Pineapple Street.
Their grandmother had nursed Continental soldiers in the Revolutionary War, and the sisters were staunch supporters of advanced education for women.
They were also fond of Ruth and supported projects at the Colored Hospital she oversaw.
Leona also expected the sensation novelist Miss Nicolette Graves, a friend of Charlotte’s, her father a senator.
Her stories featured graveyards, lost lovers, ghosts and, although generally condemned, sold extremely well.
And Gil had recruited Mrs. Diana Shephard for Leona, the wife of one of his bankers.
These women brought their friends and family to the meetings, too.
By the time the mantel clock chimed the quarter hour, they had sat again.
Leona listened carefully for Mrs. McCarthy’s footsteps on the stairs, for she usually showed the visitors up.
Leona glanced at Ruth and felt a stab of pain at the disappointment on her friend’s face.
Charlotte’s face had crimped with anger, her lips pressed together, forehead furrowed.
“They aren’t—”
The faint clack of the knocker downstairs made her jump. The creak of the second step as someone ascended the stairs brought a flood of relief to Leona’s heart. “Here they are,” she breathed out.
“It’s fine, Leona.” Ruth smiled at her. “All will be well.”
Mrs. McCarthy stepped through the door. Alone. In her hand she held several white cards, her expression grim. Growing hot with shame, Leona read them.
Sorry to decline...will not be attending...
Ruth took the cards from Leona with a tutting sound and passed them to a muttering Charlotte.
“And,” Mrs. McCarthy said, “there’s a constable downstairs. Detective Gideon Day.”
“The Lord is good.” Ruth breathed out. “I hope he’s brought your memoir.”
Charlotte grasped Leona’s shoulder. “And at least there’s no one here to gossip about a visit from the police.”
Her friends were kind, even Mrs. McCarthy nodded encouragement. But the shame only grew stronger, and she wished she was alone so she could scream into a pillow in peace. A dozen women, among them friends, or so she believed, had shunned her.
“It’s my fault,” Leona said.
“It’s not, they’re idiots,” Charlotte snapped.
Leona put her hands over her eyes. “They’re not idiots.”
“Name calling never helps,” Ruth added. “But this is very unkind of them.”
Leona wished the darkness behind her eyes would swallow her whole. “I’m so sorry.”
Ruth’s warm fingers tugged at her own, and she dropped her hands with a sigh.
“I’m sure I don’t know what’s going on here. But the man in the parlor wants talking to right now.” Mrs. McCarthy glanced at the table covered in uneaten sandwiches, scones, and cakes. “Perhaps he’s hungry?”
Leona bit her lip. Oh, the waste! Gil would be angry. “We’ll pack it all up for the orphans’ home. And certainly feeding Detective Day can only help.”
***
L EONA SLID OPEN THE pocket doors to the front parlor, her friends in the kitchen with Mrs. McCarthy in case she needed them. The unsmiling detective set down his plate of cake and stood when she entered.
“Did you find my folio?” Leona asked before anything else could be said.
He shook his head, and she sighed. When she seated herself in the opposite chair, he sat a fraction of a second later. Though his eyes fell to it, he didn’t pick up the cake again.
“Is your husband at home?”
Leona frowned. “He’s at his office. Has something—did something happen and you want to speak to him? Did Mr. Van Wyn—”
“Did something happen?” he rumbled back, half mocking. “Did I not tell you to stay away from the investigation, Mrs. Gladney?”
“Well, you certainly told me, Detective Day,” she said, her pulse rising. “I do not believe I agreed not to visit my friends.”
“Who have complained to the police about your behavior,” he informed her, watching her closely. “Your visit to Mrs. Eliza Rackham did not go unnoticed.”
Dread creeped up her throat, and she croaked, “Did you speak with Mrs. Rackham?”
“She was ill when I called on her. I was told she could not be disturbed.” He picked up the plate of cake and forked a small amount into his mouth. His pleasure as he savored it shone briefly in his eyes.
Bitterness rose in her. She chewed on it as he finished the cake, wiped his mouth, and set down the plate. He looked her in the eye again. “Did you speak with Mrs. Rackham, Mrs. Gladney?”
“Of course, I did. But her illness is old age and her thoughts and memories are confused. It’s difficult to make sense of the things she says.”
“So she gave no indication she knew anything about the jewel theft?”
“Absolutely none,” Leona said honestly. “Where is my writing folio? I’d like to report another theft.”
“Mrs. Gladney.” He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands together. “Have you told me everything?”
“I have answered every question truthfully.” You obnoxious man . Her temper got the best of her, but she couldn’t help feeling he withheld something from her. “Have you told me everything about my friend’s death? Did the coroner’s report come back yet?”
He stood, looming over her. “You will not involve yourself in this investigation again. If you do so, I will bring you and your husband to the Fourth Precinct station house for further questioning. Understood? This is for your own good, Mrs. Gladney.”