CHAPTER NINE #3
Leona resisted the urge to snatch it up, torn between relief and outrage. Mrs. McCarthy entered again, breaking the tension. She began to pour coffee for Geneva when she stopped her.
“Sherry, please.”
Mrs. McCarthy glanced at Leona.
“Of course. I’ll take care of it, Mrs. McCarthy, thank you.
” Leona went to the sideboard where the decanter sat with the crystal glassware.
She poured one for Geneva and one for herself.
Ruth did not drink spirits, apparently content with her coffee.
It was too early in the day, but what else did Leona have to do?
Leona handed Geneva the glass. “Is there something you want from me, Mrs. Van Wyn?” She sat opposite her, her eyes drawn to the blue ribbon again.
Geneva quaffed her sherry in one long swallow and contemplated the emptiness there. Ruth frowned at Leona. Geneva set the glass down on the table beside the folio. “I need your help.”
She and Leona had served together on behalf of the less fortunate; the homeless soldiers, the orphans, the hospitals. They were not friends, though her words were familiar. However, something told Leona she would not be asking for help to serve soup or hand out blankets.
Leona sipped from the sherry, wishing it was whiskey.
“I mistrust my husband,” Geneva said.
“Women are always at the mercy of Men, the Law, and Society’s expectations,” Leona said. Marriage to Benedict Van Wynn had firmly placed Geneva on the uppermost level of Brooklyn Heights society. No wonder she worried. It would be a long, hard fall. Leona stood and poured from the decanter again.
Geneva drank and made a wry face after a few swallows. “Oh, dear. This is difficult. Why did you break into the house?”
“I didn’t break in. The kitchen door has a jiggly lock.”
“What did you hope to accomplish exactly?”
Leona indicated the folio on the table with a flick of her hand.
“I left this and needed to retrieve it. And I hoped to find someone to talk to me, to find out what happened to my friend, your grandmother-in-law. Your husband was quite angry at me, but I don’t feel I have earned his distrust. And I don’t understand why you’re here except to return my property, but you didn’t need to do this personally. ”
Geneva rolled her eyes. “My husband is angry at everyone. Wouldn’t you be if something like this happened to your own grandfather?”
“Of course.” Leona forced a grim-feeling smile. “But you said—”
“That I mistrust him. Yes.”
If Leona wanted answers, it appeared she’d have to supply the questions. “Do you want to know if there is an indiscretion between your husband and Audrey Larkin?”
Geneva flinched. “You and she were friends, were you not?”
Leona sighed. “I am under the impression there is a plentitude of suspicion, but no actual facts. Winifred Hausmann is missing. Audrey Larkin hasn’t been accounted for since that night, either.”
“Winifred is missing? What do you mean?” Geneva appeared concerned about the young woman, anyway.
“Detective Day told me her mother reported she hasn’t come home since the night of Daphne’s death.”
“Oh, dear.” The coolness left her eyes and gave way to worry.
Leona’s frayed temper began to unravel. “Look here, Mrs. Van Wyn—”
Ruth said, “Leona, she wouldn’t be here if she thought you had anything to do with the theft.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Geneva twisted, uneasy in the chair, as if seeking a way to escape her thoughts. “But I’m afraid. I suspect Benedict has something to do with his grandmother’s death. And that Audrey is also somehow involved.”
The back of her neck tingling, Leona poured more sherry for herself. Perhaps Eliza Rackham had the right of it after all.
“You think he got tired of waiting for his inheritance?”
“I don’t know anymore,” Geneva whispered and emptied her glass again.
Leona, concerned Geneva had gone past her usual capacity for drink, took the glass away as Geneva shivered in reaction. Leaning back in her chair, she placed a hand over her eyes.
“Or since no one can find Audrey, he’s done away with her, if she were a witness,” Leona went on, relentless. “Or Audrey helped him.” Though the same could be said of Winifred.
Too many what ifs.
“What will I do?” Geneva moaned. “He’s destroyed us.”
“Now, you don’t know this for sure, Mrs. Van Wyn,” ever-practical Ruth said. “Why are you so afraid?”
“Afraid he will hurt you?” Leona added. “Or the children?”
Geneva frowned. “He is temperamental with me and the children, harsh with the staff, and stays out all night gambling and drinking. And the women.” She dabbed at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.
“But most of all I’m afraid he will destroy our family along with our reputation if he had anything to do with Grandmother Daphne’s death. ”
“I still don’t understand what you want from me,” Leona said, growing irritated all over again. Geneva wasn’t the only one worried about reputation.
“I don’t know who else to trust, Mrs. Gladney.” Geneva covered her eyes again as if embarrassed by what she had to say. “I hired a private detective, and he disappeared with the money I paid him in advance.”
“What do you want me to do?” Leona persisted.
“You will help me.” She dropped her hand and looked at Leona, eyes as hard as small sapphires now.
“You know that household, and you were friends with Audrey. Find Audrey Larkin and whoever else might know something about that night.” She paused.
“I’ll help you gain back your good social reputation. ”
But both Detective Day and her husband had made her promise not to involve herself.
She studied Geneva, the blueish circles under her eyes, her pallor, the red-rimmed and swollen eyelids.
Sleepless nights had created this portrait of a desperate woman, driven her to Leona’s doorstep.
Was she only afraid? Or did she know more than she could bear telling?
“Mrs. Van Wyn, I have been warned away from talking to anyone involved. And your husband has implied my husband and I had something to do with the jewelry theft.” Leona stood, ready to escort the audacious woman out the front door. “I cannot do as you ask.”
“To be frank, Mrs. Gladney, none of that matters to me.” Geneva spoke with more grit than Leona had seen so far. “If you find Audrey Larkin, we’ll have our answers, I’m sure of it.”
“Why me?” Leona cried, outraged.
The woman picked up the folio from where it lay on the table and held it out to Leona. “Because you are either a monster or a monstrous liar.”
Shocked speechless, Leona took the folio, opened the cover, and found it empty except for the blue ribbon.
“If you don’t help me, all will be known, Mrs. Gladney.”