CHAPTER THIRTEEN
C ool air and clear skies surrounded Leona as she walked to the corner newsstand to buy a paper.
Her eyes moved quickly over the headlines, drawn to a small article in the bottom left corner.
A frisson of foreboding whispered through her.
The police had pulled the body of an unidentified man from the river.
Accidental drowning happened all the time, didn’t they?
She tried to put it from her mind. By the time she returned to the house on Cranberry Street, she’d shaken off the foreboding, and her plans for attending the séance this evening weighed heavy on her.
She’d hardly closed the door and removed her coat when someone began to pound on the door, calling out her name.
Gil took the newspapers from her with a grimace and disappeared down the hall for his study.
Leona braced herself and opened the door. “Helen!”
Helen waved the newspaper at her as Leona stood aside to let her in. “Did you see the article about the man found in the river? Do you think it’s Henry?” A heavy flow of tears ran down her cheeks. “What if it’s him? What could have happened?”
“Now, now.” Leona turned to Mrs. McCarthy, who’d just arrived. “Coffee, please, Mrs. McCarthy.”
“Whiskey, Mrs. McCarthy!” Helen cried out, nearly collapsing.
Leona caught her and pulled her toward the front parlor. “No more whiskey. You smell like you’ve been bathing in it, Helen dear.”
“Oh, I only spilled it while I was reading the paper, Leona. Oh, please!”
“Breakfast first.” She glanced at her housekeeper, who nodded her understanding.
The distraught woman allowed Leona to guide her into the front parlor and into a seat by the fireplace. Sweat and stale perfume lay beneath the reek of whiskey.
“Really, Helen,” Leona scolded gently. “You must take better care of yourself.”
“Better I find a man to take care of me, since Henry won’t. Wouldn’t. Oh, God, can’t....”
Leona pulled a chair up next to her. “Tell me, what have you been doing?”
“I came by a few times,” she said accusingly, “but you weren’t home.”
“Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You’ve met a man?”
“Here’s coffee,” Mrs. McCarthy said from the doorway.
Leona rose and took the tray from her. “Could you also bring bread and jam, please?”
“Of course.” She tipped her head down. “Mr. Gladney says he doesn’t want to be disturbed,” she whispered.
“That’s fine,” Leona said, though it wasn’t. “She just needs someone to talk to. She’s right to feel neglected, though I’ve hardly had time since—well.” She set the tray on a nearby table. Sitting close to Helen again, Leona rubbed her cold hands. “What have you been doing with yourself, Helen?”
“Waiting for Henry,” she replied, her eyes still overflowing with tears. “Waiting and waiting.”
“And drinking too much,” Leona prodded. “Worrying yourself ragged.”
Helen wrung her hands. “What if it’s him? I don’t know whether I’ll be devastated all over again or relieved.”
“Maybe a little of both?”
“I suppose.” Her red-rimmed eyes roved around the room. “Some things don’t change, do they? You and he have landed on your feet.”
“Well, Gil’s selling some of the land, I think. The lyceum, too. He’s kept some cash here, so we can pay the daily bills and keep Mrs. McCarthy. Do you—can we—lend you some money?”
“I don’t want your money,” Helen snapped. “I want Henry back.”
“Maybe it’s time to start thinking about how you’re going to do to support yourself? What about your family?”
“Oh, I’ve some friends to keep me.” She frowned at Leona. “Don’t you go judging me, now. Like you do.”
“Oh, Helen, for heaven’s sake, I don’t—” Well, she did, a little. “I want you to be happy and safe and for us to be friends.”
Helen stared into the flames as if Leona hadn’t spoken. “If this man they pulled from the water is Henry, how do you think he got there?”
Taken aback by the question at first, and freshly reminded of C.
Auguste Dupin, Leona thought for a moment.
“I suppose—if it is Henry—he was robbed? He had a lot of cash with him so perhaps someone attacked him, and he fought back, so they....” She bit her lip and glanced at Helen with raised eyebrows.
Helen stared at her, her eyes hardening. “You don’t get my meaning. Your husband—”
Shocked, Leona sat back in her chair as if to distance herself from the words.
“You don’t mean that! Gil had no reason to—no, you’re quite wrong.
You have it all backwards.” Then, because Helen’s accusation angered her, she said, “And you? Might you have had another of your drunken brawls and—and pushed him in, hoping he’d drown? ”
Helen laughed, the tension between them easing. “I thought about it often enough. No, the stupid fool probably fell off the ferry all on his own before he even got out of Brooklyn.”
Leona shook her head at the folly and the futility in the air. “It’s not Henry. I think this is only wishful thinking on your part.”
“You don’t know.” Helen dropped her head onto her knees and began to sob.
Leona rubbed the woman’s shoulder gently. A sharp rap at the door startled them. Leona stood and slid the pocket doors closed on Helen’s red and wet face. She was already opening the front door, the tingle of foreboding returned, before Mrs. McCarthy could get down the hallway from the kitchen.
“Hello, constables,” Leona said to the two serious appearing men in blue wool coats on the stoop. Oh, what now?
They touched the brims of their caps to her politely.
“Is Mr. Gladney at home, Mrs. Gladney?” the older man asked.
“Yes, he is. Come in. I’ll fetch him for you.” Leona left the men in the foyer, fled down the hall to Gil’s study at the back of the house, and knocked briskly until Gil opened it.
“Has she gone?”
“No, she’s in the front parlor. Gil, the police are here asking for you. They’re in the foyer.”
He appeared pensive, his hazel eyes darkening. “I wonder if it’s about the body they found. Perhaps they want me to identify Henry?”
“Oh, no!” Leona put her hand over her mouth for a moment in shock. “Of course, that’s what it must be. Oh, dear, poor Helen—”
“Stop her, Leona. Before she turns this into a fiasco.”
“Get your coat,” she threw over her shoulder, heading toward the front parlor again. “They won’t let her go with you, anyway.”
“This better not take all day,” he called after her. “He’s caused me enough trouble.”
“I know,” she replied.
The pocket doors slid open, and Helen emerged to glare at the blue-clad men. “Have you found my husband?” she asked, voice quavering.
The two men exchanged uncomfortable glances.
The younger man said, “I’m sure we don’t know, missus.”
“She’s Mrs. Caldwell-Jones,” the elder supplied.
“I need to—I need to see—” Helen turned to Leona. “Please, I want to go. I—”
“Oh, no, ma’am, no women allowed in the morgue.” The older constable turned to Leona also, fear in his eyes.
No hysterics. Leona gripped Helen so hard, she whimpered. “You can’t go. Gil will go and see what there is to see and come home and tell us there’s been a mistake, all right? You understand, don’t you, Helen?”
“Mr. Gladney, if you’d come with us, please. I’m sure you’ve read in the paper there’s a body, and Detective Day said to bring you to the station.”
Surprise reverberated through Leona until suspicion replaced it. What was Detective Day up to? Wasn’t he busy enough with the Van Wyns?
Gil, shrugging into his coat, said, “Who is Detective Day? He sounds familiar but I don’t recall the name from the original complaint I made.”
“He’s Benedict Van Wyn’s detective. I told you about him.”
“You did.” Gil appeared perturbed, frowning at her, then looking away.
“He suggested it, sir. I’m sure I don’t know why. There’s a line of people with friends, fathers, and brothers all missing down there now hoping to view the body.”
“Right, I’m coming.” Gil kissed Leona on the cheek. “I’ve a meeting this afternoon. I hope this won’t take too long.”
“I hope it’s not too gruesome,” she murmured. “Can it be Henry, do you think?”
“Me, too,” he whispered. “But I won’t know until I see the corpse.”
***
“I T ISN’T HENRY,” HE told her when he returned, apparently subdued by what he’d seen.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Leona assured him. “And when Helen wakes up, she’ll be relieved to hear it.”