Murder on Lexington Avenue (16 page)

Well, that was one thing that Rossiter and Higginbotham could agree on. Frank had to remind himself he was investigating a murder. “Mr. Wooten liked to do things his own way, too.”

Rossiter sighed. “He was using all his power and influence to convince the city that they should prohibit schools to teach signing to the deaf.”

“What about the children who can’t learn to speak or read lips?”

“Oh, they’d keep a few classes in signing, for the hopeless cases, but only as a last resort.”

Frank considered Rossiter. He seemed like a completely rational man except for the gleam of the fanatic in his eyes. Had Wooten had that same fanatic’s gleam? “So you decided it was your duty to use two innocent young people for your own purposes.”

“I wasn’t using them!” Rossiter sputtered.

“Yes, you were,” Frank said blandly. “But don’t worry. That might be immoral, but it’s not illegal, so I’m not going to arrest you for it. Causing a man’s death
is
illegal, though.”

“I didn’t cause anyone’s death!” he protested.

“You gave several people a good reason to want Mr. Wooten dead, though.”

“What are you talking about?” Rossiter’s reasonable demeanor had evaporated, and now he was sweating and squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m talking about arranging for Wooten’s young daughter to meet up with Oldham so the two of them would fall in love. You admitted that you knew Oldham and the girl would be attracted to each other.”

“Oldham’s a grown man,” Rossiter argued. “He’s responsible for his own actions.”

“Oldham’s a grown
deaf
man,” Frank said. “There can’t be many females who’d consider him a good catch, even as handsome as he is. He’ll never even be able to earn a respectable living.”

“We teach our students a trade,” Rossiter said defensively. “They can all earn a living, and Adam himself has a college education.”

“Maybe he does, but the school doesn’t pay him as much as they pay you, do they?”

Rossiter stiffened defensively, but he said, “I don’t know how much they pay him.”

Frank figured that if his own mother knew, Rossiter knew, too, but he wasn’t going to waste time arguing. “Where were you last Saturday?” he asked instead.

“What?” Rossiter asked, confused.

“You heard me? What were you doing last Saturday?”

“I . . . I don’t remember. Why does it matter?”

“Because Adam Oldham said he was with you.”

“Adam?” he echoed in surprise. “Oh, yes, now I remember. I had some friends over for dinner, some fellow teachers.”

“What time did Oldham arrive?”

“I have no idea. I didn’t pay particular attention to when everyone got there.”

“Roughly,” Frank said impatiently.

“Well, I believe I told them to come around seven o’clock. I’m sure he was there by seven thirty at the latest.”

“But he wasn’t with you earlier in the day?”

“No, why . . . ? Oh, I see. That’s when Mr. Wooten was killed, I suppose.”

“And where were
you
that afternoon?”

“Me? What does that matter?” he asked, affronted.

“Because it does. Where were you?”

“At my home, preparing dinner.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone,” he snapped, growing impatient himself now.

“That’s unusual, isn’t it? A man who cooks?”

“The greatest chefs in the world are men,” he said, affronted again. “And I’m a bachelor, so I’ve had to learn or eat in restaurants or from street vendors all the time. I value my digestion too much to do that.”

“I see,” Frank said, meaning it. If he didn’t have his mother to do it for him, he’d be in the same situation. “Do you have any idea who might’ve killed Mr. Wooten?”

“Certainly not! I didn’t even know the man.”

“You never even met him?”

He thought about that for a few seconds. “No, why should I? And why should I even want to? I hate everything he stood for.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about him anymore, do you?”

“No, I suppose I don’t, although Mr. Bell has many more supporters who are just as ardent and just as influential.” He sighed.

“How did you come to be a deaf teacher?”

“I’m not a deaf teacher,” Rossiter corrected him with more than a little annoyance. “I’m a teacher of the deaf.”

“A teacher of the deaf, then,” Frank said, managing not to roll his eyes.

“My mother was deaf. I learned to sign before I learned to talk. Are you finished with me? I really should get back to my class.”

“That’s all for now,” Frank said. “I may have some more questions for you later.”

“I’m sure I’ve already told you everything I know,” Rossiter said, rising from his chair. “I’m very sorry Mr. Wooten was murdered, but it couldn’t possibly have been Adam who killed him.”

“Why not?” Frank challenged, rising also.

“Because . . .” He had to think about this. “Because he’s not the type of man who commits murder.”

“And just what type of man commits murder?” Frank asked with interest.

Plainly, Rossiter had no idea. He said, “You would know that better than I.”

Frank hoped he was right.

 

 

“H
OW LONG WILL YOU STAY?” MRS. WOOTEN ASKED Sarah when Mrs. Parmer and Electra had finally gone.

“I think I should stay with you overnight,” Sarah said, even while she wished to leave this house as soon as possible. “Or at least until the wet nurse arrives.” She’d sent a message to the agency that she recommended to the few clients she encountered who could afford such a luxury. “You seem to be doing fine, but there’s still a chance that you might need medical attention.”

“Why? What could happen now?” she asked, alarmed.

“Excessive bleeding, for one thing,” Sarah said, not wanting to give her the whole list of horrifying things that could go wrong with even a young, healthy mother.

“And what would you do if that happened?”

“I’d stop it,” Sarah said with the confidence that had reassured countless new mothers. “But there’s no need to worry. As I said, you seem fine, and I’m sure you are. You should really try to get some rest now, while the baby’s asleep. I’ll go and see how they’re coming with the nursery. We should at least get a cradle in here for him to sleep in.”

“And see that someone has gone to get more baby clothes. I’m sure everything I have left from Electra is moth-eaten by now.”

Sarah nodded and let herself out of Mrs. Wooten’s room. She sighed with relief to be away from that woman. Mrs. Wooten certainly didn’t deserve the good fortune she’d had in losing her husband mere days before her guilty secret would have probably caused him to divorce her and put her out in the street without a penny. Men had done that with far less provocation than Mr. Wooten would have had.

Would her lover have taken her then? Since her lover was from a good family who wouldn’t have wanted the scandal, Sarah had her doubts. And who would have taken the child? Wooten would have had the legal right to him, but would he have exercised it or disowned the baby as well? Not a very pleasant situation to imagine.

Sarah found the nursery at the end of the hall. The door stood open, and two maids, one of them the one who had helped Sarah change the bed earlier, were scrubbing every possible surface of the room. She saw that the cradle had already been washed, and she instructed them to take it down to Mrs. Wooten’s room as soon as it was good and dry. When she turned to go, she found Mrs. Parmer waiting for her in the hallway.

“May I speak with you, Mrs. Brandt?” she asked anxiously.

“Certainly.”

Mrs. Parmer indicated Sarah should follow her, and Mrs. Parmer took her into a room that was obviously her own bedroom. The room was modestly decorated compared to Mrs. Wooten’s, the furniture more functional than fashionable and the bedclothes plain. When Mrs. Parmer had closed the door behind them, she turned to Sarah.

“Is my sister-in-law in any danger?”

“You mean from having the baby?” Sarah asked, not certain if Mrs. Parmer was worried about someone else being murdered.

“Yes, of course that’s what I mean,” she said impatiently.

“I don’t think so, but there’s always a possibility of complications, especially when the mother is older.”

“What kind of complications?”

“The usual things,” Sarah said, still unwilling to begin listing the various types of maladies that could befall a new mother. “I’m not overly concerned, since Mrs. Wooten is in good health and will be well taken care of.” Mrs. Wooten certainly didn’t have to worry about having to cook or clean or do laundry for her family before she was fully recovered from childbirth—or at any other time, for that matter.

“What about the baby?”

“He seems perfectly healthy.” Sarah didn’t mention that many seemingly healthy babies still died every day, but Mrs. Parmer would certainly know that. This baby had many advantages, however: a luxurious home with ample food and reliable care.

“He’s not my brother’s child, you know,” she said.

“That’s really none of my business, Mrs. Parmer,” Sarah tried.

“She killed him, you know.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Valora killed my brother. Oh, I don’t think she struck the blow herself, but she’s responsible for his death.”

“What makes you say that?” Sarah asked carefully, not wanting to seem too interested but also not willing to let an opportunity pass to find out something that might help Malloy solve the case.

“It’s jealousy, pure and simple. Terry Young killed him, because Valora corrupted his mind.”

“Do you have any proof of this?” Sarah asked.

“I don’t need any proof. Any fool can see it. She ruined that poor boy. And he
was
a boy when she first met him. Just eight years old and motherless when his father and my brother became partners. Of course Terry adored her. She made sure of that, with her sweet smiles and her tender affections. Everyone said how good she was with him. He’d sit with her for hours, talking or reading or playing games. Even after she had her own children, she always favored him.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say. “That . . . that does seem unusual,” she managed.

“Unusual? Oh, yes, very unusual, especially later, when he grew up, and he had no interest in girls his own age or in finding a wife. What did he need a wife for? He had Valora. And when she found out she was carrying Terry’s child, she must have been terrified that her perversion would be discovered.”

Sarah remembered her assignment from Malloy. “But how would her husband know the child wasn’t his?”

“Because it couldn’t have been his,” she said with certainty. “Nehemiah hadn’t touched Valora in almost thirteen years, not since they found out Electra is deaf and the baby Valora was carrying then was stillborn. Nehemiah was sure that baby would have been deaf, too, or at least damaged in some way. He said more than once that it was a blessing he didn’t live.”

“Is being deaf such a horrible thing?” Sarah asked, thinking of Malloy’s son, Brian, and of Electra Wooten and knowing that it wasn’t.

Mrs. Parmer stared back at her in surprise. “I . . . I love Electra dearly,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “But I would never want any child to be . . .”

“Less than perfect?” Sarah offered when she hesitated.

“Yes,” she agreed readily. “Electra has suffered, and she’ll suffer the rest of her life. Who will marry her? Who besides that deaf fellow whom she was seeing, that is?”

“She was seeing a deaf man?” Sarah asked in surprise. “She seems so young.”

Mrs. Parmer’s expression darkened. “She
is
young, far too young for a suitor, and of course her father knew nothing about it until a few days ago. Just before he died, as a matter of fact.”

“I suppose he didn’t approve,” Sarah said.

“Of course not. He would never allow Electra to marry a deaf man, and certainly not some adventurer who was meeting her secretly in hopes of winning himself a place in this family.”

Now wasn’t this interesting? Malloy had only hinted at this part of the story. Sarah hardly knew which of her burning questions to ask first. She’d have to be careful not to seem too avidly interested. “How dreadful,” she said. “What kind of a man would take advantage of an innocent young girl like that?”

“A man with no better prospects than catching himself a rich bride,” she said, waving away this bounder’s aspirations with a flick of her hand. “But that’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that you understand how Valora deceived my brother.”

Sarah was almost relieved to get back to the original subject. “So you’re sure Mr. Wooten would have known the baby wasn’t his?”

“No matter what Valora says, Nehemiah was adamant he would not father any more children with her. And he would never have forgiven Valora for being unfaithful, and he certainly wouldn’t have allowed her baby in his house. I want you to understand that.”

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“So you’ll tell that policeman. I want him to know that Terry Young killed my brother and why. I don’t want him to get away with it. I don’t want either of them to get away with it. You’ll tell him, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Sarah promised her. “I will.”

 

 

S
ARAH WAS MAKING HER WAY BACK TO MRS. WOOTEN’S room when a young man stepped out of one of the other rooms and stopped her.

“Are you the midwife?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sarah said. “I’m Mrs. Brandt.”

“How is my mother? No one will tell me anything, and they won’t let me see her.”

So this was Leander Wooten. “She’s doing very well. She’s tired, of course, and she’s resting now. I’ll tell her you’d like to see her when she wakes up.”

He nodded, but he didn’t move out of the way, so Sarah waited for the question he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Finally, he said, “And the . . . the baby?”