Murder of the Mysterious Maid Page 6

  “Mrs. Dennis, you say? Yes, I remember her. We met when John and I were in Brinkman three summers ago.” Her voice crackled over the lines.

  “I wanted to ask you about Flora Dobson.”

  “Who, dear?”

  “Flora Dobson,” I repeated, speaking louder in case she hadn’t heard me clearly. “The housemaid you recommended to the Dennises.”

  “You must have me mistaken with someone else,” she replied. “I’ve never sent a recommendation to Mrs. Dennis and I’ve never had a housemaid named Flora Dobson. We only keep one housemaid and she’s been with us for five years.”

  “You’re quite certain? You don’t know anyone by that name?” I verified.

  “No, I don’t know any girls named Flora. I did know a lad with the last name Dobson. Or was it Duncan? Either way, it was some thirty years ago, so it hardly matters now. I can ask John and telephone you if he knows the name.”

  She sounded as though this was very unlikely, but I gave her my name and telephone information. We said our good byes and I relinquished the seat to Nancy. Once we were back out on the street Will pumped a fist in the air.

  “Ah ha!” He cried. “The recommendation was a forgery!”

  My blood was singing in my veins. We’d uncovered a vital clue that I knew the police didn’t yet have. “We can’t get too excited. Even though we now know Mrs. Shannon didn’t know Flora Dobson, we still don’t know any more about her past.”

  “We know that she’s the sort who will give a fake reference.”

  I wiggled my head back and forth in a “perhaps” motion. “It might mean that she was desperate for work. That could explain why she was so reluctant to talk with the other maids. She might not have wanted them to learn that she lied about her last position.”

  “Or it might mean that she did something terrible at her last place and wasn’t given a character. She could have made one up to cover her past indiscretions.” Will took in my skeptical expression. “You have to admit that it’s a possibility.”

  I shooed his waggling finger away from my face and said, “It’s possible. Still, we have no proof either way.”

  “We need to find out where she was before she worked at the Dennises.”

  “That’s what we needed to find out before we visited Paula. We’re hardly much better off than we were this morning.” I felt suddenly discouraged.

  Will led me to a tea shop and we sat down to discuss our next move.

  “What makes sense?” I said, more to myself than to my tall friend. “She had to have been somewhere before she applied for the job.”

  “All right, let’s think this through logically. Flora could have been staying in town. We could check with boardinghouses. I know a fellow who would be willing to ask around discreetly for us for a small fee.”

  I told him I’d keep that in mind and returned my attention to other possibilities. “She might have recently arrived and gone directly to the Dennises.”

  “Then we would have to check at the train station,” Will accepted his glass of lemonade from the young man and handed mine to me. “If someone saw her arrive, we might be able to figure out where she came from.”

  I sipped at my glass thoughtfully. “It would be easier if she was staying in town, wouldn’t it? Tracking her down the rail line would be more than we could do.”

  “I’d have to take some time off work, but I could do it.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Your father would be sure to argue if you asked for a week away from your desk,” I chided.

  “I doubt it,” he grinned at me. “I do my very best not to do anything important or overly helpful while I’m there. The less help I am, the happier Father is when I’m not there.”

  “That’s terrible.” I couldn’t keep a smile from my lips, though, at the thought of Will intentionally being unhelpful. “Let’s hope we don’t have to send you on a mission. How do we find out if Flora was staying in town? I don’t know if it’s safe to go door to door.”

  “Don’t even think about trying it, Rose.” Will’s face grew uncharacteristically serious. “There are a number of boardinghouses in seedy parts of town. It’s not safe, even for a girl like you.”

  I took this as a compliment and I warmed at his concern. “Fine. I won’t go knocking on doors. But how will we find Flora’s lodgings?”

  “That’s no trouble. We’ll pay a fellow a dollar to ask around for us.”

  “Whom will we ask?” I was skeptical of this plan. “How do you know he’ll be trustworthy?”

  Will leaned back on two legs of his chair. “Leave it to me. I know all sorts of people, remember?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him briefly, considering our lack of other options. “All right, I’ll leave it in your hands.”

  “Good. Once I hear anything, I’ll let you know and we’ll go to interrogate the land lady together.”

  “Really, Will, interrogate? Is that what you think I do?”

  He pretended to shrink away from me. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m innocent!”

  I sighed and rolled my eyes, not able to hide my smile at his antics.

  Chapter Seven

  My grandparents had sent me to finishing school when I was eleven. I spent summers and Christmas holidays with them in St. Louis after that, and our time together was very busy. Grandmother had a complicated schedule of making and receiving visits. She served on several committees to improve the city, was a member of a number of women’s circles, and generally bossed people around in a variety of other groups. There were supper parties given and attended, balls and cotillions and dances, operas and concerts and plays. In short, my time in St. Louis was always busily spent maintaining our social position in the community.

  Life in Brinkman was not so busy. There simply weren’t as many families and so there weren’t nearly as many social obligations. Though we were invited to join the occasional supper party, they were few and far between. Added into this, Father’s disinterest in most social events and his hectic work demands, and you’ll understand why I was inordinately pleased when he suggested that we attend a concert in the park.

  By the day of the much-anticipated event, I had trained one of the housemaids to be a serviceable lady’s maid. She was, at the very least, able to tie my stays and pin my hair into place. Since I was able to care for my clothing and mostly dress and undress myself, this was a sufficient arrangement, though I grumbled inwardly that my father clearly was ignoring my needs. Hiring a lady’s maid was far from a difficult task. Normally, a woman handled the hiring and firing of her own maid. However, I was reluctant to push Father too hard lest he decide that the expense and bother was too much.

  In summer, the fashion of the day was to wear white. I don’t know how practical this was for our poor laundresses, but we all gaily donned our lightest suits and gowns and lolled on grassy lawns anyway. For this particular day, I wore a lovely dress with a white Georgette blouse. It had loose tucks across the front and down the sleeves and an elaborately ruffled collar and high neck trimmed with white ribbon and lace. The skirt was straight, but split at the bottom, revealing an underskirt with neat tucks. I wore my favorite summertime hat, complete with a wide brim, sweeping plumes, and white flowers both around the brim and under it. My auburn hair and eyes were set to good advantage with so much white and my fair skin fairly glowed.

  My white shoes and stockings and lace gloves completed my outfit, and I traipsed downstairs, tugging my gloves into place gently lest the lace tear. I was halfway down the stairs when the door opened and men’s voices reached me. My head snapped up and my eyes widened in worry. The last thing I needed was for Father to be called away to some crime scene. I wouldn’t have admitted it anywhere else, but I was looking forward to having his undivided attention for once.

  So, you can imagine my disgust when I stepped into the front hallway and found Cal Lloyd wearing cream-colored pants and a white, seersucker jacket, and straw boater. It was clear that he was accompanying us to the
concert. My eyes narrowed and mood plummeted. All the charitable thoughts Father had earned with his suggestion of attending this event together evaporated.

  “Ah, good,” he called cheerfully. “You’re ready. Look who’s joining us today.”

  Cal at least had the decency to tip his hat and say, “Good day, Miss Lunceford. You look very nice.”

  “Mr. Lloyd,” I replied frostily, “what a surprise.” Then I turned and sailed out the door with as much haughtiness as I could muster.

  Again, Cal showed that he had a few manners when he held open the carriage door for me and handed me inside. Any chance we might have had to enjoy a conversation that wasn’t about police matters died the moment Father took his seat and asked Cal about one of his cases. I turned my face to the window and fumed silently. Occasionally, I could feel the younger man’s eyes on me from where he sat across the way, but I refused to give him even a glimpse of my disappointment.

  Our driver carried a plaid, wool blanket and picnic hamper for us once we arrived in the park. He spread the blanket and made sure that we had all we needed before disappearing to wherever unneeded servants went to wait.

  It was a lovely day for an al fresco concert. The bandstand was surrounded by blankets and other picnickers all in white, ivory, or cream. A few people had brought wicker chairs, but most were spread out, enjoying the opportunity to be more casual. Father waved greetings to many in the crowd and even a number of them said their hellos to Cal. I was introduced to only the most important families and I hoped my smile didn’t look as tight as it felt.

  “It’s a lovely day,” Cal said when Father went to speak with an acquaintance nearby. Really, his attempt at friendliness was too irritating. Why didn’t Cal have the good sense to realize that he was not welcome?

  “Yes, it is.” I kept my answer short and my attention pouring out the lemonade our cook had sent.

  “I think this will be a good respite for your father. He works very hard.” I felt the reprimand in his words.

  My eyes speared him and I said, “I’d hoped to have an opportunity to get his mind off of police business, but here you are, reminding him that it’s all he cares about.”

  His brow furrowed and he leaned in, hissing, “Your father is a very important man, Miss Lunceford. He does much good for this town. What sort of ingrate are you for begrudging him such good work?”

  I drew back as if slapped. How dare he call me an ingrate!

  Fortunately, Father returned before I could unleash my tirade upon the wretched man who shared our blanket. In his usual style, Father failed to notice that anything was wrong between us. He engaged Cal in conversation until the musicians finished tuning and began the concert.

  It was really a very nice event. The music was lovely and a few people stood and waltzed or engaged in a polka when the music called for it. Father clapped heartily and laughed in delight. I watched him when he wasn’t aware of it and had to admit that he did seem more relaxed than he had been of late. If Cal Lloyd hadn’t been sitting on our blanket, it would have been perfectly lovely.

  But, there he squatted, like an unwanted toad. I felt his eyes stray to me repeatedly and, much to my dismay, my cheeks colored every time. His scolding still stung and I was angry and embarrassed by it. Perhaps I was selfish to begrudge Father the friendship of his protege. When I looked at Father, I was reminded of the years of neglect he was making no attempt to amend. For most of my life, he had chosen his work over his own daughter and I was waiting now for him to make some gesture to show he regretted this as much as I did.

  What if that gesture never came? I hated to think of it, but it was possible that it might not. Perhaps Father didn’t regret sending me away. He might not be glad to have me back in his house. He might find me troublesome or find little difference at all. What an awful thought.

  I remembered how I’d waited for him when I first moved to my grandparents’ home. No one had bothered to explain to me that Father would not be coming to live with us. I must have watched at the window every night for a month, hoping that this would be the night that he finally came to live with us. You can imagine my disappointment when, night after night, he didn’t arrive. My governess finally took pity on me and explained that he wouldn’t be coming. I was to live with my grandparents and he would remain back in the house we had shared with Mother before her death.

  The music came to an end and I joined in the applause, pulled away from sad memories. I was ready to return home and have a good cry alone in my room. The outing had been quite spoiled by Cal Lloyd and I wanted to be away from him very badly.

  “There’s the mayor,” Father announced, standing to his feet and stretching. “I need to speak with him. Cal, why don’t you take Rose for a walk around the pond.”

  He was striding off toward where the mayor and his wife sat before the groan even had time to leave my lips. I turned to the young detective and scowled.

  “Shall we?” he asked, his voice tight. It was only too obvious that Cal liked this idea even less than I did.

  I lurched to my feet and stalked off toward the path. I hadn’t thought to bring my parasol and now found that I didn’t know what to do with my hands. They kept wanting to clench and I forced them to relax again and again. We’d done half a circuit of the large pond before either of us thought of anything to say.

  “It was a nice concert, didn’t you think,” Cal ventured.

  “Yes, quite nice,” I responded woodenly.

  A quick peek in his direction and I noticed his jaw tensing. I was angry with him and wanted to provoke him.

  “Why do you so dislike me?” I asked brazenly.

  Cal’s head swung to me; his expression full of the most satisfying surprise. “I don’t dislike you.”

  “Come now, Mr. Lloyd, there’s no reason to be false.” I laughed at him, hoping to provoke.

  “I’m being quite truthful,” he protested. “I don’t dislike you. I don’t really know you enough to have made up my mind.”

  I snorted, not caring how unladylike it might be. This plebe wouldn’t know fine manners anyway, I thought scornfully. “You called me an ingrate not an hour ago. You have done everything in your power to keep me from participating in the investigation of Flora Dobson. You and Father sit for hours in the same room with me, ignoring me totally. What other verdict am I to make?”

  He considered this carefully for a number of steps, his hands in his pockets. When Will walked this way, he hunched over and slouched along taking long-legged steps. Cal, on the other hand, somehow managed to look casual and completely in control as always. It was infuriating.

  “I suppose I can understand why you might be inclined to make such a judgment. However, you aren’t weighing in all the evidence,” he argued.

  “Oh ho,” I chuckled. “What have I missed?”

  “I have no motive to dislike you,” Cal began, gesticulating to help make his point. “We have exchanged scarcely a hundred words. Until today, your behavior has been inoffensive. And, in my defense,” he was warming to his subject, “I hardly know enough about you to have any idea what topics of conversation you might enjoy.”

  I felt instantly smug. “On that count, at least, you are wrong. I have made it very clear that I am interested in the case of Flora Dobson’s murder. Yet, every time I’ve attempted to join in that conversation, you have scolded me and cut me off from it.”

  He was truly taken aback. “I can’t imagine a lady being interested in the gruesome murder of a servant. It never occurred to me that you might want to know the details of the case.”

  I threw up my hands in frustration. “Mr. Lloyd, I have asked you about it specifically more than once. How might that be interpreted as anything other than interest?”

  He clamped his teeth shut and looked out over the pond. “It isn’t seemly,” he finally said.

  “This is the new century and women’s roles are changing. Perhaps ladies in my grandmother’s youth were content to drink tea and gossip,
but modern women are not. We no longer require chaperons whenever we leave the house. We ride bicycles and work in factories and run businesses. It won’t be long before we have the vote.” I was pontificating and I knew it. This was a subject about which I was most passionate and I had jumped in with both feet.

  Cal, however, was unimpressed. He nodded grudgingly, but was yet to be convinced.

  “Do you think that investigations are beyond the mental capacity of a woman?” I asked it directly, almost hoping to anger him.

  “Of course not,” he replied quickly. “I’ve known many very intelligent women.” He was quiet for a moment and I let the silence grow heavier. “Crimes are dangerous and I dislike the idea of a lady being put in harm’s way,” he spoke carefully.

  He finally allowed himself to look at me. I read sincerity in his eyes and was found my admiration of it highly unexpected. He wasn’t dismissing my attempts to participate because I was an inferior species. Rather, he wished to protect me because of my sex. While I didn’t agree with him, it was a reason I grudgingly respected.

  “You cannot protect women from everything,” I argued gently. “We can fall down the stairs or a burglar could come into our homes. Discussing a crime isn’t any more dangerous than discussing the weather. Besides, there are things I can contribute to the investigation that a man couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean?” He stopped walking and put a hand on my elbow. I’m sorry to say that I thrilled a little at his touch.

  I pursed my lips and considered how much to tell him about what I knew. Cal’s blue eyes searched mine and I had to look away to resist the inexplicable urge to tell him everything.

  “I visited Paula Dennis the morning after the murder, as you know.” He acknowledged it with a nod and I went on. “That’s when we learned that Flora had only worked there a few days and hadn’t been well liked. The cook told me that Flora was in the habit of going to the laundry room where she was killed before supper. That room is accessible by both the back stairs and an outside door.”

  Cal’s straight eyebrows rose. He was impressed and I was encouraged to continue.