Victoria Thompson: Murder On Waverly Place

“Like you managed before you found her?”

Now he looked insulted. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing at all. I was just wondering how you made your living before you met up with Mrs. Gittings and Serafina.”

“I am a professor of philosophy,” he lied. He’d told Frank before that it was a courtesy title. “I have taught at some of the great institutions of learning in our country.”

“Name one,” Frank challenged.

“Harvard,” he replied without hesitation, knowing that Boston was far away and such things could not be quickly or easily verified.

“Why aren’t you teaching now?”

The man’s lips thinned, but he didn’t lose his composure. “I am retired.”

“You retired from being a professor so you could answer the door and collect money from people going to a séance?” Frank let a faint note of contempt color his words.

“Madame Serafina is doing important work. You couldn’t possibly understand, but I felt compelled to assist her in any way I could.”

“Does that mean you gave up your plan to bankroll a Green Goods Game?”

Surprise flickered across his face, but he quickly concealed it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Malloy, but I’ve never enjoyed games of chance, if that’s what this Green Game is.”

“That’s funny,” Frank said, not at all amused. “I thought you looked like the kind of man who liked taking a risk every now and then.”

“Not at all. Now I must ask you to leave. I have a lot to do before tomorrow. When will Madame Serafina arrive?”

“She told everybody to come at ten,” Frank said. “She’ll probably be here before that.”

“I’m sure she will. You may assure her that everything will be in readiness.” He moved to the front door and opened it, standing expectantly while Frank made his way more slowly, pretending to take an interest in the artwork hanging in the hallway.

“I’ll do that,” Frank said.

MUCH LATER, AFTER MRS. DECKER HAD GONE OFF TO deliver Serafina’s note to Mrs. Burke and supper was over and Mrs. Ellsworth had paid a visit so she could find out what had been going on all day with Sarah’s steady stream of visitors, Sarah finally found a moment alone with Maeve. Serafina had gone to bed early, claiming she needed to be rested for the next morning.

“Catherine is asleep,” Maeve reported when she found Sarah still sitting in the kitchen. “She just couldn’t settle down tonight. I think she’s as excited about the séance tomorrow as we are.”

“I’m not exactly excited,” Sarah confessed.

“You’re not worried, are you?” the girl asked in surprise, taking a seat at the table across from Sarah.

“Not worried exactly, but I don’t like the idea of you sitting in for a woman who got murdered.”

“No one wants to kill me,” Maeve said with compelling logic. “Besides, Mr. Malloy is going to give me something tomorrow that I can use if things get out of hand.”

“What?”

Maeve frowned. “I’m not exactly sure. He tried to explain it to me, but it sounded more like one of Serafina’s séance tricks than something the police would use.”

“Is it a weapon?”

“No, it’s a light of some kind, but it has a battery, so you don’t need a match to light it.”

Sarah wasn’t sure how a light could help if something went wrong, but she supposed it wouldn’t hurt. “What do the police use it for?”

“I think they use it at night. Some fellow invented it, but nobody wanted to buy it, so he gave some to the police. Mr. Malloy said the beat cops who work at night like it.”

“I guess they would appreciate having a light now and then,” Sarah allowed. She waited a moment, to see if Maeve had anything to add. Then she asked, “What do you think of Serafina?”

Maeve’s expression turned wary. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure what I mean, but Mr. Malloy asked me to find out what you thought of her. Do you think she can really contact the spirits?”

“I don’t believe in spirits, but I think she does. Or maybe she’s just a very good actor.”

“So she hasn’t said anything to you to make you think she’s a fake?”

“Oh, no,” Maeve assured her. “She’s real proud of her powers, and she wants everyone to believe they’re real. But there’s one thing…”

“What?” Sarah prodded when she hesitated.

“Have you noticed, she doesn’t seem real sad about that Nicola dying. It’s almost like she forgot about it as soon as she got back here.”

Sarah considered. “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right. She was nearly hysterical at the morgue this morning, but I guess that’s understandable. It’s a horrible place. It’s true, she hasn’t seemed to be grieving, but people sometimes behave strangely when someone dies. Maybe she’s still in shock.”

“Or maybe she didn’t like him all that much,” Maeve said.

“I hadn’t thought of that. Still, they were lovers. She must have cared about him a little.”

“Or only a little. I asked her what was going to happen to him now, and she seemed surprised, like she hadn’t even thought about it. When my grandfather died, that’s the first thing I wanted to know, where was he going to be buried.”

“You’ve never talked about your family before,” Sarah said in surprise. She hadn’t wanted to press her for fear of bringing up unpleasant memories, but now that Maeve herself had opened the subject, Sarah found she was curious to learn as much as she could about this girl who had become her friend.

Maeve’s gaze shifted away and darted around the room, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Sarah in the eye. “I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Oh, Maeve, nothing about your family could ever make me think less of you. I told you before, you’re part of my family now, and nothing will ever change that.”

Maeve looked down at where her hands rested on the tabletop. “Even if they were crooks?”

“Even if you were a crook yourself,” Sarah assured her.

She looked up in surprise at that. “I can pick pockets,” she confessed suddenly. “But I don’t do that anymore. Not unless I have to, that is.”

Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the strange confession. “Of course not.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, if I needed to help Mr. Malloy or something.”

“I understand. How long ago did your grandfather die?” Sarah asked to change the subject.

Maeve’s expression grew wary again. “Almost two years ago.”

Sarah heard something in her voice, something that begged her to continue, even though good manners forbade her to pry. “How did he die?”

“He was… murdered.”

“Oh, Maeve,” Sarah cried, reaching out to cover the girl’s hands with her own. “I’m so sorry!”

But Maeve just stared back at her, dry-eyed. “Remember when you were telling us about the Green Goods Game?”

“Yes,” she said cautiously.

“That was his game. He played the Old Gentleman.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say to that.

“Mrs. Gittings was right about it, too. It can be dangerous,” Maeve continued. “And not just when a mark gets suspicious.”

“A mark?”

“A sucker, the ones who come to buy the green goods. Sometimes the operators argue among themselves. That’s what happened. One of them thought Grandpap was cheating him. He wasn’t, Mrs. Brandt. I swear he wasn’t!”

“Of course he wasn’t,” Sarah said. “I’m so sorry you lost him. Was he your only family?”

“He was all I had left. My father… I never knew him at all. He ran off before I was born, and my mother died when I was twelve. Grandpap, he always took care of both of us.”