Betting on Death Read online

  “Not a one,” Will sighed. “Shall we return to Mrs. Finney’s house today?”

  My shoulders slumped a little. This was far from the fascinating case I was longing for. Still, it was the only one we currently had and I wanted to give it my all. “I suppose it’s our only option.”

  Will finished his coffee while I pinned my hat back in place and put my gloves on again. He also selected an umbrella before we made our way out the door. In no time at all, we were ringing the bell at the Finney’s large home.

  The same butler from the day before opened the door and ushered us into the morning room to wait for Mrs. Finney. I wondered that there were no footmen to do this job. Perhaps the Finneys didn’t keep any or perhaps this fussy man preferred being the gatekeeper to the house he oversaw.

  We settled into chairs and took advantage of the time to look around the room. Again, I observed that it was full of heavy drapes and furniture the size of baby elephants. Knickknacks, paintings, and antimacassars crowded every available surface. I had to admire the housemaid’s ability to dust around such a collection.

  Mrs. Finney made her way shakily into the morning room not ten minutes later and greeted us vaguely. I took in the confusion that she was working to hide and slowly said, “Mrs. Finney, I am Rose Lunceford and this is Will Edwards. You wrote to us and asked us to come and investigate some items that have gone missing from your house.”

  “I did?” she asked in surprise.

  Will and I exchanged a concerned look. He said, “You showed us where a figurine and a painting had disappeared from the parlor. You also mentioned a carriage clock.”

  Our hostess looked between us as though this was the first she was hearing of it.

  I tried again. “You mentioned that you thought some of the silver was missing.”

  “It’s been in the family for years,” she began without preamble. “My grandfather bought it when he was in Italy more than a hundred years ago. He believed that it belonged to the Medicis in the fifteenth century.”

  “That sounds like quite an heirloom,” my partner said kindly.

  “Oh, yes, it’s very valuable. That’s why I was so upset when the pieces were lost.” She looked like a little girl whose favorite toy had been broken.

  I reached out a hand to her and she clutched it. “Could you show us where the silver is kept? Perhaps we could help you count the pieces?”

  Mrs. Finney blinked at me. “I don’t know if Mrs. Weed will let me have the key.”

  “You are the mistress of this house. I’m sure she’ll allow you to unlock the silver.”

  “Am I the mistress?” Mrs. Finney asked, her voice full of surprise.

  It was becoming obvious that further dialog would produce few results. I rose and helped Mrs. Finney to her feet. Will stood and came to her other side. Walking between us and using her cane, she was able to take us down the hall, past the dining room and library, and into the butler’s pantry where we found a stool for the elderly woman to rest upon.

  Just then, footsteps sounded and I looked up to see a woman enter the room. Her hair was streaked with gray and she had lines beginning to form around her eyes and mouth. She had the round figure of middle-aged womanhood. By the excellent cut of her dress, I knew her to be part of the family.

  “Mother, there you are,” she said with a note of chastisement. “Mr. Wright just told me that you had company.”

  “Have I?” Mrs. Finney asked, bemused.

  “My name is Rose Lunceford and this is Will Edwards. We are private investigators your mother has engaged to help find some missing items.” I offered my hand.

  “Oh dear,” the woman said, clasping my hand briefly. “I’m afraid she’s wasted your time. I’m Lillian Finney and this is my mother-in-law. You might have noticed that her memory is no longer what it was. Some days she’s lucid and other days she is sure that someone is stealing from her.”

  I wasn’t prepared to let go of the chance for something to investigate just yet. “She showed us where she had a carriage clock go missing.”

  “There was obviously a place on the wall where a painting used to be,” Will added.

  Lillian nodded and smiled apologetically. “She gave the painting to my husband, Melvin, two years ago and can never remember doing so. I don’t know what happened to the clock, but it’s entirely possible that she moved it somewhere else in the house. There was a figurine that she insisted had been stolen over the summer. I showed her where she’d put it on the mantle in one of the guest rooms. Even so, she isn’t able to remember what happened.”

  “But the silver is missing, Lillian,” Mrs. Finney’s quavery voice interrupted.

  Lillian’s expression became one of long suffering. “You’ve shown me the silver twice now and each time we count it, all the pieces are still there.”

  “I want to show them,” the older woman insisted.

  “I’ll get the key from Mrs. Weed.” Lillian shot me a conspiratorial look as she left the pantry.

  Not more than five minutes later, the housekeeper appeared and unlocked the glass cabinets that held the family’s heirloom dinnerware. I took in sparkling crystal, elegant china, and a large silver tea service. The silverware was kept in a wooden chest which required a second key to reveal its contents.

  Lillian brought out the velvet-lined trays into which the pieces were snuggly nestled. She laid them out on the wooden table for her mother-in-law to examine. A few of the pieces were beginning to tarnish a bit, but on the whole, it was a very nice set.

  “Would you like me to count them again?” Lillian asked patiently.

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Finney scoffed. “The number hasn’t changed.”

  Will, Lillian, and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. If the number hadn’t changed, nothing was missing. None of us knew what to say.

  “And you still believe that some pieces are missing?” Will probed.

  “Yes. Isn’t it obvious?” The older woman was growing upset.

  It seemed quite clear to me that Mrs. Finney had lost her ability to reason. This case was as good as closed.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting your morning,” I apologized to Lillian.

  She waved a hand. “Think nothing of it, Miss Lunceford. It was good of you to humor Mother like that.”

  Will offered to help her put the trays back in the wooden holder and Lillian began instructing him on the correct order and placement.

  I turned my attention to Mrs. Finney. “I’m sorry, but we won’t be able to investigate any further.” I kept my voice low in the hopes of not embarrassing her further.

  The older woman blinked her fading eyes at me. “I’m telling you, some of the silver is missing.”

  “How can it be missing if the number hasn’t changed?” I smiled kindly.

  She leaned forward and lifted a stack of forks from the nearest tray. Peering at them closely, she finally held two out to me. “These two are different from each other.”

  I decided to humor her and took them from her hands. Both weighed the same and looked very similar. They had the sort of minute distinctions that one expected from such old pieces. I pursed my lips and looked between them, hopelessness rising.

  “They seem the same to me,” I finally admitted.

  She made a tutting noise and sat back, defeated.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Finney.” I got to my feet and put the forks back in the tray as Will lifted it and returned it to its resting place.

  Lillian saw us out and apologized the entire way. We insisted that we were glad to come and that we wouldn’t bill her mother for our time. Finally, we were allowed to leave.

  We walked back to Maple House under a gloomy cloud. The weather cooperated with our mood and began to spit as we walked. Once our umbrellas were shading us from the rain, we began to discuss what had happened.

  “That was a waste of time,” Will kicked at a long weed. “If someone wrote a book about us, they could title this particular adventure ‘
The Case of Nothing Truly Being Wrong.’”

  Despite my disappointment, the corner of my mouth tilted upward. “She seemed so certain that the silver was missing.”

  “And yet all the pieces were accounted for. She knew they were all there. I don’t understand how she could be so confused.” Will sighed.

  I echoed his sigh with my own. “Perhaps there will be a letter in the afternoon post. Today could be the day that we get the letter that is just the mystery we need to establish ourselves. Then we’ll be asked to find things that are really and truly missing.”

  “Imagine that,” Will laughed.

  Chapter Four

  Unfortunately, there was nothing interesting in the post. When I found that I couldn’t sit still any longer, I went to call on Paula Dennis for tea. Paula was my closest friend in Brinkman, after Will that is, and she was almost always available to commiserate.

  Today, she had a pair of guests already sitting with her in the parlor when I arrived. The girls were familiar to me. Annabel Austin was the daughter of the mayor of Brinkman. Her family was old and moneyed and every movement she made announced her careful good breeding. Edith Whitmore, on the other hand, was the sort who preferred to lightly brush up against good manners without embracing them fully. Her father owned a large office building downtown and had remarried a much younger woman. I got the impression that Edith’s sour attitude and refusal to cooperate with etiquette were largely due to this recent change in her family’s status.

  “Miss Lunceford, how nice to see you,” Paula jumped up and greeted me. Even though these were women of our same age and social circumstances, formality was required and Paula knew the rules. “Please, have a seat. We were about to have tea.”

  I said good afternoon to the other ladies and perched on the edge of a mostly-new and very fashionable settee.

  “Tell me,” Edith drawled, “what is it like to traipse around town with Will Edwards?” She lifted scandalized eyebrows at me.

  My fingers stiffened in my lap but I managed a small smile. “Mr. Edwards is a good friend of mine. Since we’ve begun working together, we’ve developed a professional relationship.”

  Edith and Annabel exchanged a knowing look.

  “I wish I’d thought to create a detecting agency so I could spend time with an eligible young man,” Annabel cooed.

  I checked to make sure that Paula wasn’t falling for this nonsense. I’d never stopped to wonder how she felt about my spending so much time with Will. Was this difficult for her? I was filled with the need to be very clear that he and I were friends and colleagues and nothing more.

  “While that would be clever, I only opened the agency so that we could solve mysteries,” I corrected.

  “From what I understand, you haven’t had many mysteries to solve yet,” Edith smiled coolly.

  “They’ve solved several for me,” Paula piped up loyally.

  Edith and Annabel shared a knowing smile.

  “How nice to be able to see Mr. Edwards whenever you like. Of course, I prefer to have them come calling on me rather than having to pay them to spend time with me.” Annabel’s words cut through Paula.

  My friend’s face colored and she looked down at her cup.

  I was furious. I’d never liked this game of saying something rude disguised as pleasantries. These two young ladies had clearly mastered the skill long ago. I wanted nothing more than to throw them out the front door. Never mind that Paula’s actions were obvious to everyone. She was my friend and I hated the embarrassment that was radiating off of her now.

  To make matters worse, Edith leaned forward and patted my hand. “I’m sure you’ll find a husband soon, Miss Lunceford. You won’t have to go on with this charade much longer.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insisted angrily. “Our agency is helping people. We might be off to a slow start, but I promise you that we will only grow and thrive over the coming months.” I wouldn’t stoop to insults, even if these two harpies would.

  “Of course,” Annabel smiled condescendingly and sipped her tea.

  I swore to myself that I would make the agency a success if it killed me.

  ***

  Supper was a quiet affair with just Father at the table. The investigation into Hugh Meriwether’s death was moving slowly and he had little to say on the matter. We spent the evening in front of the fire, reading and sipping sherry. That is to say, Father read, and I held a book and thought up scathing retorts I wished I’d used on the Misses Austin and Whitmore.

  I glowered inwardly as the evening went on. Edith’s words had lit a fiery determination in me. The worst thing of all was knowing that these two weren’t the only ones who were expecting us to fail. If the young ladies had had the audacity to say them directly to me, the words must be based in general acceptance.

  It was difficult for me to work up any enthusiasm for going to Maple House the next day. My anger had been replaced with defeat. Rather than feeling confident in our skills, I worried that we’d never have the chance to put them to use.

  The rain had become steady in the early hours and the thought of slogging through that and dealing with a damp hem all morning depressed me. Will and I didn’t keep strict hours, so I didn’t feel the slightest twinge when I chose to stay home and catch up on my correspondence. Perhaps I was avoiding facing the lack of important work, but I assured myself that my grandmother was expecting a long-overdue letter and that task always required my undivided attention.

  After lunch, the rain had stopped and I braced myself to face a long afternoon of sitting at Will’s house with no work. So, I readied myself, lifted my chin with a bravery I didn’t quite feel, and made my way to Maple House.

  When I arrived, I saw that I wasn’t the only guest. The Edwards’ reduced circumstances meant that they had a carriage house that was empty most of the time. Guests who brought a carriage were easy to spot since their’s was the only vehicle in the carriage house. On the few occasions in which I’d arrived after such a guest, the open carriage house doors warned me that I was not the only visitor.

  Today, however, there was no warning. No carriage was waiting in the mostly abandoned house at the side of the drive. However, I was greeted by voices talking in the parlor. Considering that Will’s mother spent the vast majority of her day in her morning room, I knew that something out of the ordinary was occurring. As my mind collected these clues, a small, traitorous part of me ruefully noted that this was likely to be all the mystery I would be facing today.

  I peeked my head around the door and saw Will’s sister, Jane, talking with Mrs. Edwards. Jane’s two children, Albert and Gerald, were playing quietly nearby. In proper houses, the boys would have been taken off by a maid to be entertained in the family nursery. However, Berta was too busy managing the household to take on two young lads as well. Therefore, though it was “not done,” the boys had to entertain themselves under their mother’s and grandmother’s watchful eyes.

  “Good afternoon,” I called in.

  “Ah, Rose, there you are,” Mrs. Edwards replied. “Would you care for some tea?”

  “No, thank you.” I was grateful that I was familiar enough in the Edwards’ home to be allowed to refuse such an invitation.

  Will loped into the parlor then and the two small boys jumped to their feet and ran to their uncle with joyful cries that bespoke their years of friendship. In response, Will knelt down and scooped the boys up into a hug that almost knocked him over.

  The ladies on the settee tittered at this display of boyish exuberance. Jane called a token warning to be gentle to her sons. Despite her smile, I wondered at the sadness I read in Jane’s eyes. Was I misunderstanding the situation or was something wrong with Will’s sister?

  There was no opportunity for me to communicate what I’d noticed to my partner. He was entirely wrapped up with his guests and I spent the afternoon reading quietly in the library and wishing the postman would deliver some good news. Once this did not o
ccur, I headed home, mulling over the possibilities for Jane’s sadness. I suppose that I was desperate for anything mysterious. My concern might prove to be for naught. Still, I wasn’t prepared to brush the situation away. With any luck, we’d be able to speak to Jane about it soon. In fact, when I saw Will the next day and told him of my suspicions, he’d likely insist on visiting her immediately. It would be something to occupy our time, at the very least.

  Supper was, again, a quiet affair and I began to wonder if life in Brinkman, Illinois would never again offer any excitement. Back in St. Louis, Grandmother had kept us busy with dozens of social calls, charitable work and cultural stimulation. Now that I was no longer a novelty, the ladies of Brinkman called rarely. It wasn’t exactly disheartening since I had chosen to start the detecting agency with Will. However, if this endeavor flopped, I would have very little with which to fill my time. Tonight, this weighed heavily on me.

  Considering how little Father had to say on the topic of Hugh Meriwether’s murder, it was taking up a great deal of his time. In his early years, my father had undoubtedly been the sort of policeman who worked at all hours. Since I’d come to live with him in the spring, he had been home to tuck into his supper with obvious relish in a timely fashion every evening. It wasn’t yet clear to me why this case was requiring so much of his time.

  In fact, Father arrived home just as I was heading to bed. He had nothing new to tell me and so I left him to his very late supper, choosing instead to wallow in the possibility that Will and I might fail as detectives and have to bear the shame whenever we dared to show our faces in good society.

  My hopes to speak with Will about his sister the instant I walked in the door the next day didn’t work out quite as I had hoped. Upon arriving at Maple House, I learned that Jane and the boys had stayed the night and were still there. Since the family lived in town, I took this to be one more sign that something was wrong.

  I made my way to the library to divest myself of my coat and hat and hoped that Will would follow. Unfortunately, he was busy building a tower out of wooden blocks with his nephews and didn’t have time for more than a wave in my direction as I walked past the morning room.