Murder on Marble Row (11 page)

When they reached the Van Dyke house, Creighton hesitated a moment before climbing the front stairs. Gathering his courage, Frank decided. Having met Lilly Van Dyke, he couldn't blame the young man.

A maid answered Creighton's knock, and her expression said she was just about to order him around to the trades-men's entrance when she recognized him. “Mr. Creighton!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“May I come in, Ella? I'd like to see my sister.”

The girl apologized and admitted him, nodding stiffly and suspiciously at Frank when he followed the young gentleman into the foyer.

“Tell Miss Van Dyke that her brother is here and wants to see her,” Frank said. “We'll be waiting for her upstairs, if you'll show us to a room.”

Van Dyke glared at Frank. “I need to speak to my sister privately.”

“Too bad. You're both suspects in a murder investigation. You either talk to her with me there, or you wait until she can visit you at the Tombs,” he said, using the nickname for the city jail.

Once again, Van Dyke looked as if he'd like to punch Frank, but his good breeding prevented him. “Can we use the front parlor, Ella?” he asked the maid.

She looked from Van Dyke to Frank and back again anxiously. “Yes, sir. I'll go fetch Miss Alberta.”

The maid scampered away, leaving the men to find their own way to the second-floor parlor.

Frank made himself at home this time, taking a seat in the most comfortable chair in the room while Van Dyke paced restlessly back and forth across the flowered carpet. Frank considered trying to make him angry again, but decided not to, since he didn't know how long he would have until Alberta Van Dyke showed up. He didn't want to use the tactic too many times, because sooner or later Van Dyke would catch on and refuse the bait. So they waited in uneasy silence.

At last the parlor door opened, and Alberta Van Dyke came in. She looked even paler than she had earlier, and her expression was bleak. Frank rose to his feet, and Van Dyke hurried to her.

“Creighton,” she said, her voice ragged. “You shouldn't have come here.”

“It's all right,” her brother assured her. “I brought the police with me, so I can't get in any more trouble than I'm already in.”

She glanced at Malloy and then silently dismissed his presence as unimportant. She took both of Creighton's hands in hers and searched his face with red-rimmed eyes. “I knew you didn't have anything to do with Father's death,” she said after a moment.

“Of course I didn't. Come and sit down. Sarah said you've been ill.” He didn't add that she looked awful, although Frank could tell from his expression he was alarmed by her appearance.

She moved to the sofa and drew her brother down beside her. “Creighton, you must be careful. Lilly is determined to blame you and your friends for Father's death.” She looked at Frank again, this time accusingly. “The police believe her, too.”

“We're looking for the truth, Miss Van Dyke,” Frank said. “If you know something that will help me find it, you need to tell me.”

“I know my brother would never do a thing like this.”

“Then who would?”

She turned back to Creighton with a pleading expression.

“Katya didn't know anything about it,” he told her. “I don't think they're involved.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked.

“What reason would they have?” he argued.

“I asked your brother if he was supporting his anarchist friends,” Frank said to Miss Van Dyke. “If they thought he'd have more to share with them if his father was dead, they might have taken matters into their own hands.”

She looked at Creighton in alarm. “If you needed more money, you should have asked me!”

Creighton only stared back at her in dismay.

“Why would he have needed money, Miss Van Dyke?” Frank asked.

Her eyes widened in alarm as she realized she had revealed something damaging to her brother.

Creighton sighed in defeat. “My father had cut off my allowance,” he admitted. “Two months ago.”

“Before that you were supporting Katya and her brother and how many others?” Frank asked.

“About ten. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Whoever needed a place to stay. It's amazing how cheaply people can live in the tenements,” he told his sister.

“Did you know your father had cut off his allowance, Miss Van Dyke?”

“Yes, but . . .” She looked away, unwilling to say anything for fear it would hurt her brother.

“And you were giving him money?”

“I had no idea he was supporting so many people,” she exclaimed. “I would have sent more!”

“It's all right,” Creighton assured her, taking her hand in his. “You couldn't have known.”

“But your friends
did
know,” Frank guessed. “They knew your father had cut you off and your sister wasn't sending you enough for all of them.”

Creighton rubbed his forehead. “I can't believe—”

“They knew, didn't they?” Frank insisted.

He nodded. “I had to tell them. I had to explain why I couldn't . . . Their work is so important! I was glad to share whatever I had with them. You understand, don't you?” he begged his sister.

She gave him a pitying look. “I just wanted you and Katya to be all right. I couldn't let you starve, especially with the baby . . .” Her voice broke, and Frank immediately remembered that she was also with child.

“Mr. Van Dyke, you've given me a very good reason why your friends might have killed your father. They could reasonably assume you'd inherit at least part of his fortune if he died. You'd have enough money to support all of them and their cause for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, Creighton,” Miss Van Dyke said in anguish. “I'm so sorry!”

“They didn't do it!” Creighton insisted, just as anguished. “I can't believe it. I
won't
believe it.”

“Then who else might have wanted your father dead?” Frank asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to show he was truly interested in their opinions.

Creighton looked at his sister, and she stared back at him for a long moment. Then she turned to Frank. “Lilly probably did.”

“Your stepmother?” he asked in surprise. “Why?”

“She hated him,” Miss Van Dyke said. “She never wanted to marry him in the first place. I've heard her say it dozens of times.”

“Why did she, then?”

“Her father made her. He owed our father money, and he couldn't pay. Father had seen Lilly and admired her, and her father offered her to him. I didn't think Father was interested in remarrying, but the idea of having such a lovely young woman must have . . . intrigued him.”

Frank thought
intrigued
was probably the wrong word, but he didn't contradict her. “Many women are unhappy in their marriages, Miss Van Dyke. Very few of them kill their husbands,” Frank observed.

“Lilly was more than unhappy,” Creighton said gravely. “She resented Father for not buying her all the things she wanted.”

“She thought she should at least have pretty things if she was married to a wealthy man,” Miss Van Dyke explained. “But Father was . . . frugal. He couldn't see any reason why she needed so many gowns. He didn't like going to parties and balls, either, so Lilly went alone.”

“And made a scandal of herself,” Creighton said.

“Did she take lovers?” Frank asked with interest. Maybe Sarah Brandt was wrong. Maybe Lilly had ignored the risks and flaunted all conventions, and her lover had helped her get rid of her husband.

Brother and sister both looked embarrassed. Miss Van Dyke's pale face colored unbecomingly at the bold question.

“Don't get the wrong idea. Even Lilly wouldn't be
that
foolish,” Creighton said quickly. “But people still gossiped about her. She doesn't seem to know how to be discreet.”

“She's a shameless flirt, though,” Miss Van Dyke said. “Other women hated her.”

“So you think your stepmother made a bomb and put it in your father's office so she could be free of him?” Frank asked skeptically.

“Someone could have done it for her,” Miss Van Dyke insisted.

“Someone she flirted with?” Frank asked, not bothering to hide his doubt. No lover meant no one with a motive to kill.

“Perhaps she hired someone,” Miss Van Dyke tried. She looked to her brother for support.

Creighton shook his head in despair. “Where would she meet someone who could make a bomb, Bertie?”

“Miss Van Dyke, I don't want to arrest your brother if he's innocent, but I need his help to find out who really committed this crime.”

He waited for a few minutes while the brother and sister engaged in a silent debate. Finally, she said, “Creighton, you must tell him who those people are.”

Van Dyke's shoulders sagged, and Frank knew he had won.

5

S
ARAH WOKE THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE STRANGE sense that something terrible had happened. She needed a moment to remember the bomb and all that had followed, and then she groaned. She'd come straight home from the mission last evening and gone immediately to bed, where she'd slept like the dead. In all the excitement yesterday, she'd forgotten she'd missed a night's sleep the day before. What had Malloy been up to since he'd left Katya's flat yesterday with Creighton? For all she knew, he'd already solved the case. She certainly hoped so, but the only way she'd find out was if she got up and dressed and went to the Van Dyke house.

With another groan, she forced herself to throw back the covers to the morning chill. The first day of December had dawned cloudy and cold. An hour later, she stepped into the Van Dykes' foyer. The maid led her upstairs, but when they reached the second floor, they could hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the parlor.

The maid glanced toward the closed door and winced. “I'll announce you, Mrs. Brandt,” she said and reluctantly went to do so.

The voices ceased the moment the girl knocked, and Sarah didn't wait to be summoned. She'd learned from Malloy that angry people often said things they later regretted, and she didn't want to give any of them a chance to regain their composure.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, pushing past the startled maid and stepping into the room. She found various members of the Van Dyke family staring back at her stupidly. Lilly Van Dyke stood in the center of the room. She had already donned her mourning dress of black bombazine in the latest fashion, but her face was an unbecoming shade of scarlet. Alberta also wore black, but much less stylishly, and the color only made her already pale face look ghastly. She also looked angry, although a silent determination held it in check. At the far end of the room sat Tad Van Dyke, holding his head and looking as if he might be sick at any moment. Sarah remembered the bottle of brandy he'd taken to his room and bit back a smile. “I hope I'm not interrupting,” she lied.

“Sarah, I'm so glad you're here,” Lilly said to her surprise. “Maybe you can talk some sense into that policeman!”

“What policeman is that?” Sarah asked, even though she was certain she knew.

“Mr. Malloy,” Alberta said much more calmly. “Although I don't think that will be necessary.”

“Not necessary!” Lilly cried in outrage. “He brought that . . . that
criminal
right into our home! What's to stop him from murdering the rest of us in our own beds?”

“Criminal?” Sarah echoed in confusion.

“Creighton,” Tad explained wearily, “Lilly, this is his home as much as ours, and he has a policeman guarding his room. He's practically a prisoner.”

“And even if he wasn't a prisoner,” Alberta added, “he has no reason to harm any of
us
.”

“No
reason
?” Lilly practically screamed. “He killed his own father!”

“He most certainly did not,” Alberta cried, jumping to her feet. “And if you ever say that again, I'll slap you!”

Lilly stared at her incredulously. She could not have been more surprised if a chair had threatened her. Sarah hurried to defuse the situation.

“Lilly, please sit down and tell me exactly what happened,” she urged, taking the woman's arm and leading her over to the sofa. She sat down obediently, although she was still staring at Alberta as if she'd grown a second head. “I gather Mr. Malloy brought Creighton back here yesterday,” Sarah said, trying to draw her attention away from the stepdaughter.

“Yes,” Alberta replied when Lilly simply frowned with distaste. “Creighton wanted to see me, so Mr. Malloy brought him here. Then Mr. Malloy got him to agree to help him find the person who . . . who killed Father.”

“Did he use a mirror?” Lilly sniped.

Alberta ignored her and sat back down again. “He was going to take Creighton to jail, to make sure he didn't run away or try to warn anyone. I couldn't bear the thought of Creighton in a place like that—”

“I'm sure it's no worse than the hovel where he lives with that . . . that
woman
!” Lilly insisted.

“Please, Lilly,” Sarah said sweetly, “I need to hear the entire story.”

Lilly sighed dramatically, but she kept her silence.

Alberta cast her a venomous look, but she continued. “We discussed some alternatives, and we finally were able to convince Mr. Malloy that Creighton would be perfectly safe here, under a police guard.”

“Why should we care whether
he's
safe?” Lilly wanted to know. “
We're
the ones in danger!”