The Revelation of Louisa May (20 page)

To Louisa, Beth's words cut like a sharp knife slicing through cheese. The habit of protecting Beth extended to more than her health; Louisa felt responsible for Beth's innocent nature, too. “Beth, you're too young to understand.”

“No, I'm not. I know why you are angry with Father. And its not about Miss Whittaker. I remember Fruitlands, too.”

Fruitlands. Louisa cast her mind back, remembering her father's grand experiment in communal living. Within six
months the provisions and the money had run out. Louisa's memories of that winter were so powerful that her fingers felt the chill of the unheated attic and her stomach ached from too little food. The experiment had nearly torn the family apart.

“Beth, I'm angry for all of us. Father let us pay the price for his ideals.”

“At least he
has
ideals,” Beth said. “I admire that and I thought you did, too.”

“I did—I
do
,” Louisa said. “But the family should matter, too. And if he's made a fool of himself with Miss Whittaker—after all Marmee has done for him—then I can't forgive him for that.”

“I don't think he would ever betray Marmee,” Beth said. “He adores her.”

Louisa recalled how sweetly Marmee and her father had said farewell. “Perhaps you're right,” she admitted.

Beth glared a moment longer, then relented and gave her sister a quick hug. Louisa immediately felt better; she couldn't bear to be at odds with Beth.

“That's better. Beth, tell me what you think we should do. Can we trust the sheriff? If George killed the man sent to catch him, it would be self-defense, wouldn't it? After all, Finch was an evil man. And George has suffered so much.”

“George wouldn't do such a thing!”

“Then where is he?” Louisa shot back. “And if it isn't George, then it might be Henry. Why should I find justice for a slave catcher if one of our friends has to pay the price?”

Beth's face was full of dismay. “Louy, think of what you are saying. If Finch was killed by a stranger, or by Miss Whittaker, would you want them to be punished?”

“Of course,” Louisa muttered, her eyes fixed on the faded pattern on the rug.

“So the only difference between Miss Whittaker being guilty and Henry being innocent is that we like Henry more?”

“Perhaps.” Louisa drummed her heels against the sofa. There was no doubt in her mind that Beth was the very best of them. She was the true North of Louisa's moral compass. “No wonder Father calls you the Conscience,” she said with a sigh. “Very well, Beth. The whole truth and only the truth is our goal.”

Beth's pale white hand found Louisa's tanned one. “You aren't alone. I'll be here with you. What will you do first?”

Louisa pressed her palms into her eyes. “I don't know,” she wailed. “I'm so tired.”

Beth straightened up and jabbed her elbow into Louisa's side until she sat up straight, too. “You can do it, Louy. Why don't you make a list of people who have reason to want Finch dead?”

“But I barely knew him!” Louisa protested. “What if some stranger killed him?”

“Then a stranger killed him.” Beth spoke simply, tilting her head to one side. “We can only try to solve the problems within our reach. We'll make a list of Mr. Finch's enemies. If we clear them all, then the murderer has to be a stranger.”

“Mr. X!” Louisa interjected. The sobriquet appealed to the sensationalist in her.

Beth couldn't help smiling. “Then Mr. X will make himself known. Get some paper.”

Louisa took the wooden horse and headed for the parlor, Beth at her heels. She found a sheet of paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink and installed herself at the small writing table next to the sofa. “Number one,” she said. “I suppose that has to be George.”

Beth's hand went to the hollow of her throat. “I hope it's not George.”

“Who has a better reason to want Finch gone? He was at the gazebo and he's run away.” Louisa went to the window and looked at the barn, looming against the darkening sky. She wanted to go out and look for George, but if he had killed Finch, then he was probably long gone.

Beth's face reflected the worry Louisa felt. “Who's next?”

“Well, I think Finch was blackmailing Mr. Pryor about his illegal liquor,” Louisa said. “And Mr. Pryor was missing from the tavern today, just about the time that Father was at the gazebo.”

“That's good. Put him down for number two.”

“And Miss Whittaker, of course. She and Finch have some sort of sordid history. They argued last night at the hotel. And she was not herself when I saw her today. I believe she had strawberry stains on her skirt—perhaps she struggled with Finch.”

“She was at the gazebo only an hour or so before you say the shot was fired. Even if Father lied about her visit.” Beth wrapped a blanket about her shoulders tightly enough to ward off any bad news.

“Don't forget she's leaving the hotel. Let's call her number three. Now there's Henry and Lidian. They both have excellent reasons for wanting Finch gone. But Lidian was with me when the shot was fired.”

“That's a relief,” Beth said.

“But I don't know where Henry was.

“But the only reason you think Henry was there is that wooden horse,” Beth pointed out. “Are you sure it's the same one Henry carved this morning?”

Louisa ran her hands over the rough carving. “It looks the same, but Henry is always carving animals.” She felt some of the load on her heart lighten. “For all we know, Henry dropped this one weeks ago at the gazebo.”

“But still, he's number four.”

Louisa marked down his name, but she deliberately made it fainter than the others. “Now what about Father?”

“Why would Father kill Finch?” Beth protested. “He had never even met him.”

“But Father is hiding something. I say he's on the list.”

Beth frowned. “Then in that case you had better put your name down, too. Finch was threatening everyone you held dear.”

“Fine.” Louisa jabbed her pen nib into the paper, making a blot that spread across the other names. “I hope you don't expect me to investigate myself?”

“Of course not,” Beth said with a teasing smile.

“What about you?” Louisa said. “My motive is your motive, too. And you were there.”

Beth's smile faded. “That's not funny, Louy.”

“All right, then, what about Fred?”

“Fred?” Louisa shook off the suggestion. “When Fred arrived at the gazebo, Finch was already dead. And Fred would never ever hurt Father.”

Beth nodded with a relieved smile.

Louisa ran her finger down the list. “This is a long list.”

“Gracious,” Beth exclaimed. “Mr. Finch was only in town for a few days.”

“He was a nasty man.”

“I don't think secrets agree with me, I feel
rumpled up in my mind
since you told me that,” said Jo rather ungratefully
.

L
ouisa propped her feet up on the sofa. She plumped a pillow under her head and let her eyelids sink shut. It was a delicious relief to rest after all that had happened that day.

“Louy!” Beth said, poking her sister with a pointed finger.

Louisa sat up, startled.

“You can't sleep now,” Beth said. “You have to solve this mystery before someone innocent suffers.”

“Beth, leave me be,” Louisa answered, not opening her eyes. “I'm exhausted. Father is safe. Fred is with him at the jail
but he'll be home soon. I can't do anything about George because I don't know where he is. The mystery can wait until tomorrow.”

Beth didn't answer. The silence grew and grew until it weighed too heavy on Louisa's eyelids. Slowly, she opened one eye. Beth was staring at her expectantly.

“Just a little nap? Please?” Louisa begged. “It's almost six o'clock—there's nothing I can do at this hour.”

“You need to question Miss Whittaker before she leaves town. And you must do it before Father comes home.”

Beth was right; Father would demand that his daughters nurse him once he was home. Spending time in jail would only aggravate his sense of injury.

Louisa opened the other eye. “You won't let me rest until I go, will you?”

On her way into town, Louisa walked at less than her usual brisk pace. She had often bragged of walking twenty miles in a day, but today she was bone tired. She deliberately passed the Emersons' house on the far side of the street.

“Louisa! Louisa! Wait!”

Louisa gritted her teeth at the unwelcome sound of Lidian's voice. Reluctantly, she turned back.

Lidian, dressed in a housedress and a pair of elegant slippers, hurried out from the side entrance to the house. She rushed through the front garden and waited at the gate. Once Louisa
was close enough, Lidian grabbed her wrist and whispered, “Is it true?” Her eyes were fixed on Louisa's face, eager for news.

“Is what true?” Louisa snapped.

Lidian made an exasperated noise. “That awful man Finch is dead. Is it true? Please let it be true!”

“It is true.” Louisa bit back all the words she wanted to say. Like “Shame on you,” or “What would Waldo Emerson think of such a sentiment?” But she controlled her tongue. “How did you hear?”

“Everyone in town knows.” Lidian looked surprised. “But no one is saying who killed him. Do you know?”

“I don't,” Louisa said. “But do you know where I can find Henry? I have to talk to him.”

“About Finch?” Lidian's beautiful brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “But you said Henry would never hurt anyone.”

“I still have to talk with him. It's important.”

“About the murder?”

“No,” Louisa lied.

Lidian gnawed on her knuckle. “I haven't spoken to him since I saw you at Walden Pond.”

Louisa turned to go. “If you see him, tell him to find me as soon as possible.”

Louisa sped off, leaving Lidian on the street in her slippers. Ten minutes later she stood outside the Middlesex Hotel looking at the entrance. What was the best way to get the answers she needed? Miss Whittaker was an accomplished liar.

She was still standing there, unclear as to her best next step, when there was a tap on her shoulder. Startled, she whirled around. It was Mr. Pryor. She took a step back. It was one thing, she decided, to speculate in theory about how someone might be a murderer. It was a much different thing to run into one of your suspects in the street.

In a low voice, Pryor said, “Have you heard the news? The man who was so interested in our package has been killed.”

“I know,” she said.

“It's terrible, of course,” he said. “But I must own it's a relief.” He paused. “Don't you agree?”

Shame on all of us, Louisa thought. Out loud she said, “Certainly. It will make things much simpler.”

Mr. Pryor nodded. “And just in time, too—the other packages are due to arrive in two days.”