Nelson closed his eyes as the full knowledge of his betrayal washed over him. “It wasn’t me,” he whispered.

“Then we’ve got to find out who it was.”

8

SARAH GOT HOME EARLY THAT MORNING AFTER DELIVERING a baby girl, so she had time for a brief nap before meeting Malloy at the Walcott house. Her nap was cut even shorter when someone knocked on her door. Fearing another delivery would keep her from visiting Mrs. Walcott, she was relieved to find one of her parents’ servants with a message from her mother, inviting her to supper that night to meet Mr. Richard Dennis. Her father had kept his promise!

She was still a little groggy when she left her house, but the combination of her appointment this evening, the prospect of learning more about Anna Blake, and the brisk fall air quickly revived her. She took an umbrella with her because it looked as if a storm was brewing.

By habit she glanced over at the Ellsworth house, expecting to see Mrs. Ellsworth coming out onto her porch, broom in hand, to inquire into her business and warn her about some omen or offer her a good luck charm. But the shades were all pulled tight and the front door remained tightly closed against intruders. She wondered if Malloy had told Nelson about the story in The World that branded him a perfectly justified killer instead of a wanton one. Nelson probably wouldn’t appreciate the difference. She would have to be very convincing with Mr. Dennis if she hoped to save Nelson’s job at the bank. With any luck at all, she’d be able to influence him before he’d had a chance to act on the story.

Washington Square was busy on this cloudy Sabbath afternoon. Families dressed in their Sunday best hurried to their destinations, trying to beat the gathering storm. No one had time to remember a woman had died right here less than a week ago. Sarah hurried past the hanging tree, trying not to look at the place where Anna Blake had lain and trying not to think of the irony that she died beneath a tree of death.

Thompson Street was quieter than the Square, although people were rushing about here, too, on their way to or from Sunday visits. She saw no sign of Malloy when she arrived at the Walcott house, but then she hadn’t heard the city clocks striking the hour yet either. Slowing her step, she looked around, wondering what she should do. Standing on the pavement in front of the house would be a little too obvious and would certainly attract attention, and besides, it might start raining at any moment. Her presence also might warn Mrs. Walcott that trouble was on the way and allow her to make her escape out the back door. She didn’t have time to form a plan, however, because the front door of the Walcott house opened, and Catherine Porter looked out.

“Mrs. Brandt?” she called.

Sarah looked up in surprise. “Yes?”

“That police detective is here. He told me to watch for you.”

So much for needing a plan. Sarah made her way up the front steps with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she was furious with Malloy for not waiting for her. He’d probably been there for an hour and was finished with his questioning. He’d let Sarah examine the dead woman’s room and then they’d leave. She wanted to wring his neck.

Catherine closed the door, not quite meeting Sarah’s eye, as if she knew Sarah wanted to ask her about things she didn’t want to discuss. “They’re in the parlor,” she said, gesturing to the closed doors. “He said to go on in when you got here.”

Sarah would have preferred to be announced, but with a sigh of resignation, she slid open the pocket doors and found Malloy and Mrs. Walcott sociably drinking tea and chatting about the weather.

Malloy’s expression changed at the sight of her. Although it couldn’t exactly be called a smile, he did look somewhat pleased to see her. Mrs. Walcott, however, seemed less so. They both set down their cups and rose to their feet.

“Mrs. Brandt, isn’t it?” Mrs. Walcott said with a practiced smile. “How nice of you to come.” Once again, she was dressed in fashionable good taste, her artificial hair perfectly styled.

“I see Mr. Malloy told you to expect me,” Sarah said, nodding to her hostess and giving Malloy a glare.

“As I explained, Mrs. Brandt has agreed to give me the benefit of her medical knowledge to assist me in this investigation,” Malloy said with a straight face. “I’m told there are some delicate matters about this case that a female could address more easily.”

Mrs. Walcott frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Malloy. Please sit down, Mrs. Brandt. Would you like some tea?”

Sarah allowed that she would, and she took a seat beside Malloy on the sofa. While Mrs. Walcott served her, she tried to catch Malloy’s eye so she could let him know just how unhappy she was with him, but he refused to cooperate.

“I’m very sorry about Miss Blake’s death,” she said finally.

“She was a lovely girl,” Mrs. Walcott said, handing Sarah a fragile China cup and saucer.

“How long had she lived here?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, four or five months, I believe. Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Walcott had a sweet, well-modulated voice. She could have passed herself off as a society matron in the right venue. Today she wore black, probably for mourning. She had a cameo brooch pinned at her throat, and black lace mitts on her hands once again. At least she looked the part of lady of the manor.

Sarah glanced at Malloy again, waiting for a cue. Had he already finished questioning her? “Have you been here long, Mr. Malloy?” she asked.

“Just a few minutes,” he replied smugly, recognizing her annoyance and enjoying it. “I was waiting for your arrival. Mrs. Walcott, I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened the night Anna Blake died.”

Mrs. Walcott’s cup rattled in the saucer, and she quickly set it down. “Forgive me,” she said, folding her hands tightly in her lap and lowering her head for a moment to regain her composure. “It’s still very difficult to discuss this.”

“I’m sure it is,” Malloy agreed sympathetically, “but if we hope to find out who killed her, we have to know where she went and who she saw.”

“Of course, although I don’t believe I’ll be much help to you.”

“Just tell us what you know,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Walcott nodded, took a deep breath, and began. “Anna had seemed distressed about something. Even more distressed than she had been ever since she discovered that… Well, I think you know her situation.”

“I know what she said her situation was,” Malloy corrected her. “She’d told two different men that they’d gotten her with child, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Mrs. Walcott registered her surprise, but she continued resolutely. “I’m sure I don’t know any more than that some man had taken advantage of her and she was distraught, as anyone would be. I had begun to worry that she might harm herself. Many young women in her position do, you know.”

“So she was unusually upset that night,” Malloy prodded.

“All day, in fact. She hardly left her room.”

“Did she have any callers?” Malloy asked.

Mrs. Walcott considered for a moment. “I’m sure this had nothing to do with her death, but…”

“Someone came to see her?”

“Yes, a… a young man,” she admitted with apparent reluctance.

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t give his name, and she didn’t reveal it. He wasn’t here long, and Anna left the house shortly after he did.”

“Did he go upstairs with her?”

Mrs. Walcott looked shocked. “Certainly not! I run a respectable house here.”

Sarah knew Malloy could have disputed that, but instead he asked, “Was she happy to see this young man?”

“Not particularly. And while I didn’t listen at the door or anything like that, I couldn’t help but hear that their voices were raised at one point.”