“Maybe you’ll tell me why you think all this is important?” he tried, knowing it would annoy her to think he hadn’t figured it out.

He was right. “Malloy, I’m surprised at you! Mrs. Blackwell might have thought the only way to avoid being discovered as a morphine user and having to speak at those lectures again was to murder her husband.”

He almost hated to show her how weak her theory was. “You think a woman who was so frightened she’d take morphine to give her the courage to stand up in front of a crowd is going to have the courage to pick up her husband’s pistol, put it to his head, and blow his brains all over her nice carpet?”

“Desperation can make people do strange things,” she pointed out.

“Next I suppose you’re going to argue that she wasn’t in her right mind because of her delicate condition.”

“I’m sure that’s what she’d argue-if she’s guilty, that is.”

“I can’t see any jury in the world convicting a woman with a baby in her arms. That’s even if her father allowed it to get that far. I can’t believe he would.”

“Who is her father?”

“His name is Symington.”

“Maurice Symington?” she asked with a frown.

“Probably. Do you know him?”

“I’ve heard of him, and my father knows him, I’m sure. I think he made his money in manufacturing.”

“You mean he owns sweatshops?”

“That’s exactly what I mean. I’m surprised he allowed his daughter to marry so far beneath her, unless Dr. Blackwell comes from money, too.”

“He doesn’st,” Frank said.

“Well, then,” she said, as if that proved everything. “Now I’m really surprised the father allowed her to appear at Dr. Blackwell’s lectures. Such a public display would surely be offensive to him.”

“I figured the same thing. Do you think Blackwell had something on the old man?”

“Looking for blackmail as a motive, Malloy?” she teased: “Sorry to disappoint you, but Mrs. Blackwell said they just felt they owed Blackwell a huge debt after what he did for her. He wouldn’t even accept payment for treating her, and every other doctor had completely given up on helping her. It seems reasonable they would feel deeply grateful and obligated.”

“Maybe,” was all he would allow. Something about this case bothered him. Probably it was the idea that the man might have been done in by his own son. Frank found that very unsettling. He certainly didn’t want to hear that the wife had done it instead, an even more unsettling idea.

“Or maybe she had a lover who took matters into his own hands,” she suggested. “He would have the same motive as she, but he’d also have the will and the nerve to actually kill Dr. Blackwell.”

“Do women of her class usually take lovers?” he asked, ashamed to admit that she might actually have come up with a good possibility. He hadn’t yet seen Mrs. Blackwell, so he couldn’t judge her character.

She considered this for a moment. “No, they don’t. In fact, a woman from that class in society who is known to have taken a lover becomes a social outcast. It’s simply too dangerous to risk.”

Frank gave her a murderous frown for getting his hopes up, but she simply shrugged apologetically.

“All right, Malloy, you told me you’d have the killer locked up yesterday. If Mrs. Blackwell and her imaginary lover didn’t do it, who did? That harmless little man, Mr. Potter?” she asked sarcastically.

“Never assume anyone is innocent, Mrs. Brandt. That’s the best way to end up looking foolish.”

She opened her mouth to say something that was probably outrageous, when someone knocked on the door, distracting them both.

“Yes?” Frank called.

The parlor doors opened, and Amos Potter stepped in. “Excuse me, but I was wondering how Mrs. Blackwell is doing.”

Sarah Brandt smiled sweetly, probably thinking Potter was merely a concerned friend of the family. Frank had a feeling Potter’s interest in Mrs. Blackwell was more than just friendly, however. He was just too solicitous.

“Mrs. Blackwell is just fine,” Sarah said, “although she’s very tired and has asked not to be disturbed anymore today.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on disturbing her,” he hastily assured her. “I’m sure I wouldn’t dream of… I mean, well, I did want to let her know the plans for Edmund’s funeral, of course. We must have some sort of wake. He has many admirers, and his patients will want to pay tribute to him for all he’s done.”

“When were you planning to have the funeral?” Frank inquired, thinking this would be a good opportunity to look at all of Blackwell’s acquaintances at once. The person who killed him would most likely be among them, unless his son really was the killer. In that case, Calvin Brown wouldn’t very likely be in attendance since he would probably be a thousand miles away by now.

“I thought we’d have it tomorrow, since it’s Saturday and… Well, that is, I already put it in the newspaper, so we will have it here tomorrow at ten o’clock. Just a small memorial service, you understand. There won’t be a viewing, of course. I mean, under the circumstances, and with poor Edmund… Well, in any case, people need an opportunity to mourn. I know Mrs. Blackwell won’t be able to attend, but I’m sure it will be a comfort to her knowing Edmund is being honored appropriately.”

Not necessarily, Frank thought cynically, but he said, “Shouldn’t you have checked with Mrs. Blackwell before making arrangements to have an event in her home?”

Potter seemed offended at the very suggestion. “Mr. Symington told me to proceed with the arrangements. I felt that was all the authority I needed. I assure you, Mrs. Blackwell will not be troubled in the slightest. Her well-being is my foremost concern, and I would never do anything that might cause her distress.”

Frank could believe that. The man seemed extraordinarily concerned with Mrs. Blackwell’s well-being. “I appreciate the opportunity to meet Dr. Blackwell’s friends and associates,” Frank said. “It should help me in my investigation.”

Potter’s round face grew red. “It would not be appropriate for you to question people during a funeral, Mr. Malloy. No one there will know anything anyway. You’d do better using your time to search for young Calvin.”

“Who’s Calvin?” Mrs. Brandt asked, and Frank winced. He’d been trying to keep her out of this, and now Potter had hooked her right in.

Frank considered trying to brush off her question, but she’d never allow that. He could tell by the expression on her face that she was like a hound on the scent now. In any case, Potter was already telling her everything she needed to know.

“Calvin Brown. He’s a young man who had a… a certain grudge against Dr. Blackwell. I believe he is the one who killed Edmund,” he added with more authority than he had any right to feel. At least he hadn’t given her all the dirty gossip, Frank thought.

She turned to Frank expectantly. “If this man is the killer, why haven’t you arrested him yet?”

“Because no one knows where he is,” Frank replied, managing not to sound testy. It was a pure act of will.

“Oh, my, that is inconvenient, isn’t it?” she asked without a hint of sympathy.

“Very,” Frank agreed.

“If you could find him, you probably could have arrested him yesterday by, oh, I don’t know, say by nightfall,” she said.

Frank gave her a thin smile that she returned with a smirk.

“Oh, yes,” Potter was saying, although no one was paying him any particular attention, “I’m sure this boy is the one who killed poor Edmund. He had an appointment with him that afternoon, and no one else was even in the house at that time. The servants had the afternoon off, and Mrs. Blackwell was out doing her visits. Who else could it have been? And now, of course, he’s nowhere to be found. I’m sure that proves his guilt, the fact that he’s vanished. Don’t guilty men usually flee?” he asked Frank.

“If they can,” Frank replied. At least Mrs. Brandt would think the killer was beyond their reach. Maybe she would lose interest in the case or maybe there wasn’t really a case at all. Either possibility would keep her out of it.