Sheila Connolly: Fundraising The Dead

“Say I buy that,” James said slowly. “Why would she kill Alfred, and try to kill you?”

“Because she’s in love with Charles, and she knows what he is up to.” That silenced both of them. I noted that neither one of them was arguing with me. “Marty, you’ve seen the way she looks at him. Is it so hard to imagine that she would kill in order to protect him? I don’t think she has much else in her life. Alfred was a threat to everything she cared about. And so was I, because Alfred confided in me, and then I wouldn’t let it go. Maybe she would have gone after you next.”

“Do you think Charles knows what Doris did?” James kept his voice level.

I answered slowly. “I don’t know. He may have guessed about how she felt about him, but he probably found that convenient. Do I think he asked her to do his dirty work for him, or that he knew or guessed what she was doing? I can’t say. But if he did figure it out, after the fact, no doubt he realized that to implicate her would only throw a spotlight on his own activities. Maybe he even worried that she’d give him up in order to save herself if it came down to it. Maybe he hoped the police would just chalk Alfred’s death up to an accident, which is exactly what they did.”

We all fell silent, working through the various ramifications of what I had said. Finally James broke the spell. “I think we need to have a conversation with Doris. And with Charles.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right. But do we bring the police in now?”

He regarded me levelly. “I think we’ll have to, but let’s talk to Doris first. I am obligated to point out that the only crime we have any evidence of at the moment is Doris ’s attempt to kill you, and even that isn’t clear-it would be her word against yours.”

We stared at each other for several beats. He was right: if I accused Doris, there was no way to be sure that a charge of attempted murder would stick, and there was still no guarantee that we could prove she was Alfred’s killer. And frankly I wasn’t sure that the Society could recover from the double whammy of a murder plus grand larceny splashed across the headlines. While my construction of the plot had seemed perfectly logical when I worked it out in the silent darkness of the wine cellar, I wasn’t sure if it would stand up under scrutiny. But there was one way to find out.

“Let’s go talk to Doris.”

Back at the Society, Marty, James, and I hurried up tothe third floor. I was not surprised to find that Doris was not at her desk; Charles wasn’t at his, either. I retrieved Doris ’s address; she lived within walking distance in nearby Society Hill. “What if she’s not home?”

“We’ll deal with that when we come to it.”

It took no more than fifteen minutes to walk the mile or so to Doris ’s address. I was torn between the need to find out if I was right about what had happened, and the reluctance to confront Doris. We walked up the two flights of the nineteenth-century brick row house, now apartments; Doris ’s apartment was on the top floor. James rapped authoritatively on the door as Marty and I hung back. Inside, there were footsteps; the peephole darkened briefly, and then multiple bolts were shot back. The door opened.

Doris was neatly dressed, every hair in place. She took a long time studying us: first me, then James, then a quick look at Marty. Then she stepped back. “Come in, please. Can I get you some coffee?”

I squashed an urge to giggle. Doris, my would-be murderer, was pretending this was a social occasion. But then, I wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette for an accusation of murder might be. I decided to let James handle this-he had a lot more experience than I did.

He stepped into the short hallway. “No, thank you, Ms. Manning. We need to talk with you. You weren’t at work today.”

Doris sniffed. “Miss, if you don’t mind. Mr. Worthington gave me the day off. I’ll be happy to talk with you.” She turned on her heel and led us to a small living room, its windows overlooking the street. We distributed ourselves among the chairs. “What did you want to talk about?” Very cool and unruffled. I felt a tingle of alarm.

James began. “Can you tell us what happened yesterday afternoon at the Society?”

She glanced at me. “Of course. Mr. Worthington asked me to call Miss Pratt. He wanted her to see something he had discovered in the basement. I called her, and she arrived an hour or so later.”

“And then what?”

“I escorted her to the basement.”

“Where was Mr. Worthington?”

“I can’t say.”

“He was not in the building?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I expected him to meet us there.”

“Had you seen him at all yesterday?”

Doris shook her head.

“Talked to him?”

“Well, I must have, wouldn’t you say?” She looked at James as if challenging him.

He took a different tack. “After you led Miss Pratt to the basement, what did you do?”

“I went back upstairs. I had some paperwork to finish up.”

“You must have finished it, since you didn’t go in to work today.”

“Charles was kind enough to let me take the day off.”

“Where was Miss Pratt when you left yesterday?”

“Still in the basement as far as I’m aware. May I ask why you would like to know?”

“Are you familiar with the room that used to be a wine cellar, in the basement?”

“Not to my knowledge. I seldom go downstairs-there’s more than enough to keep me busy upstairs.”

“So you were not aware that Miss Pratt spent the night locked in that wine cellar?”

Doris ’s eyes darted briefly to me. “Why would I be?”

I stared at the woman in front of me: prim, self-contained, sitting tidily on a straight-backed chair, her legs crossed at the ankles. Was she a very good actress? Apparently she was. But something about Doris Manning was off. She had shown no surprise when we appeared at her door, and little curiosity about why we were here. I decided to cut to the chase. “ Doris, you knew I had a relationship with Charles, right?”

For a brief moment her eyes flashed with venom. Then the shutters dropped again. “That’s none of my concern.”

“Did you know about the other women, too?” I pressed.

“I know that Mr. Worthington meets many women in the course of his duties as president. On occasion he has asked me to make a dinner reservation or send flowers.”

“Did you know that he made a pass at Marty and is now dating a friend of hers? And that he’s been involved with other women-multiple women-at every place he’s worked in the past ten years?”

Doris was now glaring openly at me. “Why should that be of any interest to me? He’s my employer. I don’t intrude upon his personal affairs.”

I sat back in my chair. “Of course you don’t. But he depends on you, doesn’t he? You’re a great help to him, and you’re an important part of the Society’s organization.”

“I try to be of service,” she said. “It is, after all, my job.”

And how far did her devotion go? I was getting tired of this. “ Doris, cut the crap. Yesterday afternoon you pushed me into the wine cellar and locked the door. I think you hoped that it would be a good long time before anybody found me.” When her expression didn’t change, I realized that she wasn’t going to alter her story, and I had precious little proof to back up mine. But then an idea occurred to me. “ Doris, I’m going to bring charges of attempted murder against you, and against Charles. If he asked you to, uh, remove me, then he’s equally guilty under the law, and he’ll be arrested, too.”

I could see that shot had hit home. For all I knew, she was perfectly willing to be a martyr, but she wasn’t about to let Charles be dragged down with her. Not after she had gone to such great lengths to help him. “No! Charles didn’t know.”