Murder In Chelsea Part 6

She gave a little cry, then hastily crossed herself. "Merciful Mother of G.o.d."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be, coming in here like this and telling me somebody I've known most of my life is dead."

"I'm not the one who killed her."

The blood drained from her face. "Killed, did you say? Don't tell me she was killed!"

Frank grabbed her arm and steered her to the closest chair.

When she was safely seated, she glared up at him. "Who killed her?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm here."

"n.o.body here did, I can tell you that. Everybody loved Anne."

"I'm sure they did, but I thought you might be able to tell me more about her so I can figure out who might have wished her harm."

"Not a soul on this earth." She crossed herself again, and tears flooded her eyes. "I can't believe it."

"Why did she leave here?"

"What?"

"You said she'd been living here for almost a year, and then she left. Did she say where she was going or why she was leaving?"

"She . . . I don't know. She had some story about a job, I think. She was leaving the city, she said. I don't remember. People in the theater are always coming and going. I didn't pay much attention. Maybe the other girls can tell you. But I guess she didn't leave the city, did she, if she's dead? Ingrid knew her the best."

"Who's Ingrid?"

"Ingrid Cordova. One of the girls who was just here. She can tell you what there is to know. I'll get her."

In a few minutes, Mrs. Dugan was back with the pretty, dark-haired girl who'd been insulted that Frank didn't know she was an actress. She was protesting vigorously until she reached the parlor. Then she just dug in her heels. "I don't know what he wants to see me about. I ain't done nothing wrong."

"I told you, he has to ask you some questions. About Anne."

"Anne? Why would he want to know anything about Anne?"

Mrs. Dugan gave him a pleading look. Obviously, she hadn't broken the news.

Frank sighed. "Miss Cordova, Anne Murphy was murdered this morning."

Ingrid's pretty face registered her struggle to deny his words. She turned to Mrs. Dugan, outraged. "What's he saying?"

"Annie's dead, G.o.d rest her soul, and he's trying to find out who killed her."

"Killed?" she said, as if she'd never heard the word before.

This time Mrs. Dugan helped Ingrid sit down and produced a handkerchief when the girl started sobbing. They waited until she'd recovered herself. Finally, she looked up at Frank. "I just saw her the other day." As if that proved she couldn't be dead today.

"Mrs. Dugan said she came by to pick up her mail."

"She did. It was funny, you know? None of us gets letters, but she said Emma Hardy wrote to her." She turned to where Mrs. Dugan hovered at her elbow. "I didn't believe her. I didn't know Emma hardly at all, but I'd guess she never wrote a letter in her life. But sure enough, there was a letter here for her."

"Do you remember what day this was?"

"I don't know. A week or so ago, I think."

"Did she say anything about the letter, what it said?"

Ingrid frowned. "No. She just tucked it in her pocket and then we talked a little."

"What did you talk about?"

"I don't remember."

"Try. It could be important."

Tears flooded her eyes again, but she took a minute to think. "I asked her what happened to the job she was getting out of town. She said it didn't start yet, but she'd be going soon."

"Did she say what the job was?" Frank asked.

"Said she'd be taking care of Emma Hardy's little girl again. Emma had been on tour, you know," she added, glancing at Mrs. Dugan as if for confirmation. "That's why Anne came back here last year."

"Anne left the city years ago to look after Emma Hardy and her kid," Mrs. Dugan said. "But maybe you already knew that."

"Did Emma Hardy live here, too?"

Mrs. Dugan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You obviously know her. Did she ever live here?"

For some reason, she needed a few seconds to consider her reply. "Back before she had the baby, yes. Years ago, that was."

"And had you seen her lately?"

Another hesitation. "Well, then she had a room here for a few years, for the times when she was in a show."

"She did?" Ingrid asked.

"Hush, you don't know anything about it." Mrs. Dugan turned back to Frank. "Her gentleman friend paid me to keep one for her." She didn't look like she'd been too happy about that arrangement.

At least this part of the story made some sense. Emma Hardy and Anne Murphy had both lived in this rooming house, so they must have agreed Emma could contact Anne here. That would explain why the most recent letter to Anne was addressed here, even though Emma had instructed her to find another place to live. "Did Miss Murphy seem upset about anything when you saw her the other day?"

Ingrid thought about this for a moment. "No, she was real happy, in fact. Said she couldn't wait to see the little girl again."

"Did she say where the girl was?" Frank wondered what story she'd given out.

"She was with Emma."

"Did she say that?"

Ingrid opened her mouth to reply, then hesitated. "I . . . I don't know if she did or not. Maybe I just thought that's where she was. But where else would she be?"

Where else, indeed. "Do you know of anybody who might want to harm Miss Murphy?"

Ingrid's eyes flooded again. "I can't believe she's gone. No. No, I don't know of a soul who'd want to hurt her. Do you really think it was somebody who knew her? Sometimes people get killed by strangers, you know. Lots of bad things happen in the city."

Frank knew that very well. He wasn't going to explain Anne Murphy's death to them, though. They were upset enough. "Thank you for your help, Miss Cordova. If you think of anything else, let me know." He gave Mrs. Dugan his card.

The sky was still light when he left the boardinghouse. The days were getting longer, and winter's chill had left the air. These pleasant weeks between winter's frigid blasts and summer's searing heat were too few. Too bad he never had a chance to really enjoy them. He'd get something to eat, and then head over to Sarah's house. He'd put off telling her about Anne Murphy long enough.

SARAH AND MAEVE STILL SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, trying to decide whether to go to bed or wait a little longer for Malloy, when they heard the knock. Hoping it wasn't an expectant father come to summon her for a delivery, Sarah hurried to the front door.

"Malloy," she said in relief. She took his coat and tried not to read anything into his grim expression. "Are you hungry?"

"No, but I could use some coffee."

He followed her into the kitchen. Maeve greeted him.

"I thought you'd be in bed by now," he teased, taking a seat opposite her at the table.

"And how would you expect me to sleep without knowing what you found out? And where you've been all day, too."

Sarah stoked the fire and put the coffee on to heat. "I've been wondering that myself," Sarah said, trying not to sound as annoyed as she felt that he'd made them wait so long for the news.

Then she noticed Malloy's expression, and her annoyance evaporated. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Anne Murphy is dead."

Sarah needed a minute for the truth of it to sink in. When it did, she managed to lower herself into a chair before her knees gave way. "What did she die of?"

"Somebody stabbed her."

"Dear heaven," Maeve murmured.

Sarah still could not make sense of it. "Who? Why?"

"I don't know that yet. I went to see her first thing this morning, and I found her dead. She was alone in the house, and whoever killed her had probably just left."

Sarah glanced at Maeve. Her face was white, her eyes wide with shock. Guilt tore at her. "You were right," she told Malloy. "We should never have gone to see her alone."

He waved away her contrition. "It's too late to argue about that now. There's more, a lot more, and none of it is good news. I found Catherine's father."

Sarah's breath felt like a shard of gla.s.s in her chest. How could she bear this? "Who is he?"

"His name is David Wilbanks. Does that mean anything to you?"

Sarah shook her head. "No. Miss Murphy said he was a wealthy man. I thought I might know him, but I don't think I've ever heard that name before."

"Maybe your father knows him, or at least knows of him. He wants Catherine."

Sarah covered her mouth to hold back a sob, and Maeve threw an arm over her shoulder.

"We won't let him have her," the girl said, tears spilling down her cheeks.

But Sarah could only shake her head. He was Catherine's father. How could she keep his child from him? Fighting her own tears, Sarah said, "How did you find him?"

"Anne Murphy had written him a letter. I found it in her room."

"So she did know who he was," Sarah said, grasping on to anger like a lifeline to keep her from slipping into despair. "What did the letter say?"

"She was offering to tell Wilbanks where Catherine was if he was willing to pay her for the information. I'm not sure why she wrote it but hadn't mailed it. Maybe she would have sent it if Emma didn't show up or something. We'll probably never know, but it led me right to Wilbanks."

Fury swelled in her chest. "Did you tell him where Catherine was?"

"Of course not, but he's her father. He has a right to at least see her. And he's dying."

"Dying? What do you mean?"

"He's got cancer, he said. He told me he only has a few months to live."

Sarah wanted to feel pity for this unknown man who could destroy her world, but instead she hated herself for feeling relief that he might not live to do so. "But he still wants Catherine."

"He told me he wanted to marry Emma Hardy so he could raise Catherine to be a respectable young lady."

"I thought he was already married," Maeve said.

"His wife died over a year ago. Remember Miss Murphy said that Emma and Wilbanks had an argument right before Emma ran away? Wilbanks said it was because she didn't want to marry him."

"But that doesn't make sense," Sarah said.

"None of this makes any sense," Maeve said. "And why would somebody want to kill Miss Murphy, of all people?"

Sarah didn't know, and right now, all she could think about was losing her daughter. "How did you leave it with Wilbanks?"

"I told him that until I find out who killed Miss Murphy and why she thought Catherine might be in danger, too, I wasn't going to tell anyone where she is."

"And he agreed to that?"

"He did. He wasn't happy about it, but he doesn't want any harm to come to her either."

Tears stung Sarah's eyes. How could she hate a man who loved Catherine that much? "But if he's dying . . ."

"I know. He won't wait very long."