Victoria Thompson - Murder on Washington Square

“How are you doing?” she asked Ellsworth in a gentle tone she had never used with Frank.

“I’m fine,” he said, although he was obviously far from fine. “How is my mother taking all of this? She isn’t strong, you know. The shock must have been awful.”

“Now that she knows you aren’t locked in jail, she’s doing much better. I promised her you’d come home after it gets dark and no one can see you.” She looked up at Frank, daring him to contradict her.

“I don’t see any reason why he can’t go home tonight,” he said mildly, “so long as he gives me his word he won’t try to run away.”

“Run away?” Ellsworth echoed indignantly. “I don’t have anything to run away from!”

Frank could have given him a long list of things he should run away from, but he said, “Are you hungry, Ellsworth? Because I sure am.”

Mrs. Brandt gave him an impatient look, but she turned away and began rummaging around for something edible.

“I don’t think I could eat anything,” Ellsworth said, “but a cup of tea would be very nice.”

“You should try to eat,” Frank said, not entirely unselfishly. If Ellsworth didn’t want anything, she might not fix anything. “You’ll need your strength.”

“Malloy is right,” she said, surprising Frank. He thought this might be the first time she’d admitted he’d been right about anything. “And I think we could all use some tea.”

Soon the kitchen was uncomfortably warm, in spite of the evening chill that had settled over the city. Frank stayed there, though. He was enjoying the comfortable domesticity of the scene. For once he needed no excuse to watch Sarah Brandt to his heart’s content.

He liked the way the lamplight shone on her golden hair and the way she moved, so confidently yet so feminine. She really was a fine figure of a woman. She would fill a man’s arms quite nicely. Or his bed. The thought caused him a pain that was part longing for what could never be and part grief for what he could never have again. The loss of his wife Kathleen was a wound that would never completely heal, but lately when he dreamed he was loving a woman, she wasn’t Kathleen. Instead, she had golden hair and Sarah Brandt’s face. It was a dream that could never come true, but since no one ever need know about it, he figured it was harmless enough. And no one ever would know, least of all Sarah Brandt.

She turned and set a teapot on the table, then fetched two cups. She poured Ellsworth’s for him and even put some milk into it. “Do you need some sugar?” she asked in that gentle tone again.

“A spoonful, please,” he replied, and she stirred that in, too. Then she went back to her cooking.

Frank cleared his throat expectantly. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The next time you’re falsely accused of murder, I’ll pour your tea, too,” she said with that smirk that made him want to shake her. Or at least lay his hands on her.

He didn’t really want any tea, but he took some anyway. Pouring it was a distraction of sorts. In a few more minutes, she served their supper, which was potatoes fried with onions and eggs. She put some on a plate for Ellsworth, even though he protested that he couldn’t eat a thing, and then passed the serving plates to Frank.

While Ellsworth picked at his food, Mrs. Brandt said very casually, “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted Anna out of the way?”

Ellsworth looked up in surprise. “Certainly not! She didn’t have any enemies. She hardly even know anyone in the city.”

“An old friend then, someone who knew her before she came to the city. Do you know where she was from?” she prodded.

Nelson considered a moment. “I think… She may have been from the Hudson Valley, but I can’t recall the name of a town. Perhaps she never actually told me the name.”

“If her mother was sick, why did they come to the city in the first place?” Frank asked between mouthfuls. Mrs. Brandt wasn’t as good a cook as his mother, but right now, that didn’t really matter.

“Her father had died and left them penniless,” Ellsworth explained. “Anna’s mother wasn’t sick at first, and they both thought they might find work in the city. But of course, the work they found only paid a pittance, and then her mother got sick… Poor thing, Anna was at her wit’s end when I met her.”

“She was very lucky to find someone like you, Nelson,” Sarah Brandt said sweetly. “Someone who was willing to help her without expecting anything in return.”

Even in the dim light of the gas jets, Frank could see that Ellsworth’s face had gone scarlet, because they all knew he’d eventually gotten something in return, expected or not. “I didn’t force her,” he said. “You must believe that!”

“Of course we believe that,” she assured him. “Did Anna have any other friends in the city? Perhaps she’d met someone when she came here.”

“I… I got the impression she was quite alone,” Ellsworth said. “Besides, she might have been killed…” He had to stop and fight back a rush of emotion. “By a stranger,” he finished. “At that time of night, in a public square…”

“But why would she have been out so late, alone?” she asked, still sweet and gentle. Frank was beginning to admire her technique. “Can you think of any reason?”

“No, I can’t,” Ellsworth wailed. “I’ve asked myself the same thing a hundred times. She would’ve known it wasn’t safe. At that time of night, the Square is filled with all sorts of dangerous people.”

“But if she was from a small town, maybe she didn’t know that,” she offered. “Is it possible she just decided to go for a walk? Could she have been that naive?”

Ellsworth’s shoulders sagged with despair, and he covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know.”

But all this conjecture had given Frank an idea. “Do you think she would have gone out to meet you ?”

Ellsworth looked up. “But I never would’ve asked her to meet me someplace after dark!” he objected.

“She might not have known that, though. Suppose someone sent her a message and said it was from you. Would she have gone out to meet you?”

“I don’t know. She might have,” he conceded.

Frank checked the serving bowl and kept the last scoop of potatoes from going to waste.

“Do you think someone lured her out that night to kill her?” Mrs. Brandt asked him while he was refilling his plate.

Frank shrugged one shoulder. “It’s possible. I’m just trying to figure out how it might’ve happened. We know she was out there and someone killed her. If it wasn’t Nelson here-”

“And it wasn’t!” Ellsworth cried.

“Then it had to be someone else. Was it a stranger? If so, why was she there in the first place, where she was easy prey? Prostitutes work in the Square after dark. Why would she risk being mistaken for one by some drunken customer?”

“Which means she must have had a good reason for being there,” Mrs. Brandt guessed. She was getting much too good at this sort of thing. “And that could only mean she was expecting to meet someone. Someone important to her.” She turned to Ellsworth. “If you were her only friend in the city, she must have thought she was meeting you.”

“But why wouldn’t he have just come to the house, the way he always did?” Frank asked. “Or at least wait until morning to meet her? Why would he ask her to do something dangerous?”

“Please, I can’t…” Ellsworth begged, dropping his head into his hands again. “I can’t think anymore. Isn’t it dark enough for me to go home yet?”

Frank sighed. He wouldn’t mind being rid of Ellsworth. He wouldn’t get any more from him tonight. “I’ll check to see if the reporters are still there.”