“Brown did, anyway,” he corrected her. “He sent them money at first, but then he stopped. They had a hard time of it, according to Calvin.”

“I’m sure they did,” Sarah said. “Who do you think knew about this other wife? That would certainly be a motive for murdering him, if it was someone who cared about Letitia and her reputation.”

“You think Symington might’ve done it? Or hired it done?”

“Mr. Potter said no one else knew about it but him and Dr. Blackwell,” Sarah said. “Of course, he might not know who else Blackwell had told.”

“Blackwell wasn’t likely to confide in his father-in-law that his marriage was a sham,” Malloy pointed out.

“Could someone else have told him?” Sarah asked.

“Who else knew?”

“Calvin did,” Sarah reminded him.

“How would Calvin meet Symington? And Symington didn’t seem to know who the boy was the other night when Potter and I told him about him.”

“That’s too bad. I don’t like him very much, and I’d like for him to be the killer,” she said.

“Not me. A man that rich and powerful would never spend a day in prison, no matter who he killed.”

“Do you think Calvin did it?” she asked.

“No, but that doesn’t mean he didn’st,” Malloy cautioned her. “I’d better get to the dining room to see what’s going on.”

“We’ll probably need to rescue Calvin, too. I hope Potter isn’t rude to him.”

“Potter will probably pretend he doesn’t see him,” Malloy said. “He won’t want to make a scene.”

Sarah ignored his sarcasm. “Maybe I can strike up a conversation with someone. You’d be surprised what you can learn from funeral gossip.” She pretended not to notice the way Malloy rolled his eyes.

They started down the hallway toward the dining room, but they stopped when they heard Amos Potter apparently arguing with someone just outside the doorway.

“This is hardly the time or the place to discuss such things, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’d be happy to make an appointment with you-”

“You don’t need an appointment. You just need to know that I own this house, and Blackwell was living here rent-free. Now that he’s dead, I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t rent it out to someone who can pay, so you can tell Mrs. Blackwell she’s got until the end of the month to get out.”

6

POTIER LOOKED THUNDERSTRUCK, AND WHEN HE saw that Malloy and Sarah had overheard, he blanched. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Fitzgerald,” he stammered. “Please allow me to make an appointment to speak with you privately about this matter.”

“What could that hurt?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked her husband pleadingly. “And you can’t throw Mrs. Blackwell out onto the street! She just had a new baby.”

“I’m sure her father will take them both in,” Fitzgerald said coldly.

“Then at least let me meet with you to make the arrangements,” Potter pleaded, glancing nervously at Sarah and Malloy, who were waiting patiently instead of scurrying away, as most people would have done to save themselves the embarrassment of overhearing such an unpleasant conversation.

“Fine. Monday morning at nine at my place of business,” Fitzgerald said, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out his card.

Potter took it gingerly and quickly tucked it away. “I’m sure we can make arrangements that will suit everyone concerned,” he said with forced heartiness.

Fitzgerald grunted noncommittally and turned away, but to Sarah’s surprise, he entered the dining room, followed by his wife. The man was going to evict a newborn babe and his mother, but he didn’t think twice about enjoying their hospitality. She glanced at Malloy, who apparently shared her thoughts.

“Who is that fellow?” he asked Potter.

“Clarence Fitzgerald,” Potter said, after pulling the man’s card out and examining it. “His wife was a patient of Dr. Blackwell’s. He helped her tremendously. Sciatica, if I recall correctly.”

“And she was so grateful she let Blackwell live in this house rent-free?” Malloy asked with a frown.

“I’m sure I know nothing of any such arrangement. Edmund did not confide in me to that extent.”

“The Fitzgeralds are very generous,” Sarah noted. “The rent for a house like this would be considerable.”

“Oh, no, there was a scandal here, I understand. The Fitzgeralds owned it, but they were having trouble finding a tenant. Edmund said he cared nothing for such things, and he would take the house. He felt Letitia deserved a residence that matched her station in life, and of course he didn’t tell her about the scandal.”

“I guess it also helped that he was getting it for free,” Sarah said.

“If that is indeed the case,” Potter replied stiffly. “I believe Mr. Fitzgerald may be exaggerating his generosity. I haven’t had time to put Edmund’s affairs in order, but when I do, I’m sure I’ll discover the facts of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the comfort of our guests.”

Potter entered the dining room and insinuated himself into the nearest group, rudely interrupting their conversation, while Sarah and Malloy stood watching in amazement.

“What do you think?” Sarah asked Malloy.

He shrugged one of his beefy shoulders. “I think Mrs. Fitzgerald was way too grateful if she gave Blackwell this house to live in.”

“That depends on what services he performed for her,” Sarah said with a smug smile, and was gratified to see Malloy’s jaw drop in surprise. She loved to shock him. “Why don’t you take care of Calvin? I think I’ll go make Mrs. Fitzgerald’s acquaintance and see what I can learn.”

Without waiting for Malloy’s reply, she moved into the room, carefully stepping around the small groups that had formed for conversational purposes and looking for the Fitzgeralds. To her alarm, she found her quarry engaged in conversation with Calvin Brown!

Or at least Mrs. Fitzgerald was. Her husband was merely standing by, glaring in disapproval. Sarah slowly made her way through the crush of the crowd to the comer where they were standing.

“I knew you must be some relation to Dr. Blackwell,” Mrs. Fitzgerald was saying. “The resemblance is striking. How long have you been in the city?”

“A week or so,” Calvin mumbled, plainly awed by people of their social status and unsure whether to answer their questions or not.

“You must have been impressed to find your father living in such a grand house,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “Which room have you been staying in?”

“I… I ain’t been staying here,” he said, looking more and more uncomfortable.

Sarah excused herself and elbowed her way around the last person separating her from them.

“You weren’t staying with your father? Where on earth have you been staying, then?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked, a little shocked.

“A lodging house on Essex Street,” he said.

“And Edmund allowed that?” Mrs. Fitzgerald couldn’t believe such a thing.

At last Sarah was close enough to intervene. “Calvin, there you are,” she said with a smile.

The look he gave her showed desperation. She offered him hope.

“I believe Mr. Malloy was looking for you,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the dining-room door.

“Thank you, ma’ am,” he said, and made his escape with unseemly haste.

“Hello,” Sarah said to Mrs. Fitzgerald when he was safely away. “It was a lovely service, wasn’t it?”

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked surprised and a little annoyed that Sarah had sent the boy away, but she was too well-bred to be rude. “Oh, yes. I do wish they’d had a minister, though. It doesn’t seem like a funeral without a minister.” Sarah noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and her nose was red on the tip, as if she’d cried quite a bit today.

“I know,” Sarah replied. “I wondered at that myself. Perhaps Dr. Blackwell didn’t hold with organized religion.”

As she’d hoped, Mr. Fitzgerald finally started drifting away, bored by what promised to be nothing more than female chitchat and looking for something more interesting to amuse himself.