A Changing Light Page 11

  “Yes, I was,” he finally said.

  I reconsidered. This was not the time or place to be asking him questions about Luthera’s—or anyone’s—whereabouts during the event.

  “May I stop by the boat shop tomorrow? I have a question or two for thee.”

  “Please. I’ll be there all morning.” He tucked Amy’s hand through his elbow.

  “I thank thee. It was very nice to meet thee, Amy.”

  “Likewise, Mrs. Dodge.” She smiled. “So far we have but the one child, but should I have need of a midwife again, I will seek you out.”

  “Please do.”

  The menfolk shook hands again and the Sherwoods made their way toward the door. Before they reached it, an usher escorted the green-eyed man from the Board of Trade meeting—the Brazilian, apparently—to a small table set for one.

  David sat. “Doing a little sleuthing, I see.”

  “Just a little. The thing is, the key has to be what happened during the banquet the night of the murder. Someone persuaded Justice Harrington to leave and then shot him in the alley. Did he or she then return to the event as if nothing had happened or go home?”

  “You think Mr. Sherwood might have seen something to provide an answer.” He reached over and took my hand.

  “He’s an ethical and observant man with a good memory. If he noticed something suspicious, he’ll tell me.”

  “And you, my dear wife, will take the information to the police rather than acting on it.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  After breakfast with David, I sent him along on his morning work. I donned my split cycling skirt, which luckily was roomier around the waist than my regular dresses, and set out on my steel steed to speak with Jonathan Sherwood. It was after nine o’clock when I turned onto Main Street and coasted down the hill. The day before had been sunny enough to melt away the slush. Patches of snow remained only in north-facing shaded spots.

  As I pedaled past Patten’s Pond, I spied a tall man leaning against a tree, staring into the water. I braked to a stop.

  “Zeb?” I called.

  He turned and gave a half-hearted wave.

  I wheeled the bicycle off the road and leaned it on the tree. I resettled my bonnet, which was always flying akilter from the wind created by riding, and took a closer look at him. His face was gaunt, and the dark smudges under his eyes made him look far older than his twenty-one years.

  “Zeb,” I kept my voice gentle. “What’s the matter?”

  He waited while the river-bound trolley clattered by, still pulled by horses. “Rose, other than when my brother died, this has been the worst week of my life.”

  “Tell me.” I waited but got only silence in return. “Truly, it can help to unburden cares onto someone who loves thee.”

  He folded his arms and gazed across the pond at the massive four-story Locke & Jewell carriage factory. “Very well. I’ve finally attained a position of some responsibility. I’m off the factory floor and meeting the carriage-buying public. I thought all was well. I thought Faith and I could start a family soon. But then I hear my employer is having financial troubles. I’m questioned as a suspicious person in a murder investigation. My own mother is a sad embarrassment, the laughingstock of the town. Even Faith is giving me odd looks. What am I to do?”

  “Look at me, dear nephew.” I waited until he did. “Has thee done anything wrong? Any act illegal or unethical?”

  “I never would.” He shook his head, hard.

  “I didn’t think so. Then let us take these concerns one at a time. William Parry first. If his business goes under, thee will find employment elsewhere. Thee is gaining a reputation as a well-spoken, intelligent, informed salesman. I daresay Robert Clarke would welcome thee, or the Bailey business.”

  “Maybe.” He stared at the ground.

  I continued. “And we both know their products are of a higher quality.”

  “That is most certainly true.”

  “As for thy mother, I spoke with her yesterday after she was jailed.”

  He raised his shoulders in a wince.

  “She needs to stop drinking entirely,” I said in a gentle voice, “but the impulse has to come from her.”

  “I know, Rose.”

  “Would that she could go to a residence like a tuberculosis sanitarium, but one instead designed to help the recovery of those addicted to spirits. There is the Martha Washington Home in Chicago, a rehabilitation center only for women, and the New York Inebriate Asylum. I also know of several Keeley Institutes, but their injections of bichloride of gold seem like a questionable cure.”

  “Either way, we’d have to get her to agree to go. At least my father got her home yesterday.” Zeb shook his head. “I don’t even know where she finds the stuff.”

  “I understand. Now, about the murder. I’m working with the police on the matter. It will help if thee tells me everything, every detail, about Second Day evening. What thee saw, what thee heard.”

  “I told them, Kevin and his lackeys.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Zeb.” I got his attention and pointed at my face. “Tell me. Come sit down.” I perched on a bench someone had placed near the shore of the pond.

  He plopped down next to me, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Mother showed up at the opera house, weaving and slurring. Maybe she’d heard there would be free refreshments of the alcoholic variety, I don’t know.”

  “And?” A red-tailed hawk keened as it circled overhead, with its raptor’s high-pitched cry, as if wailing for Prudence’s affliction.

  “I left to walk her home. William Parry wasn’t happy with me, but I told him I would be back.”

  “What time did you leave?”

  He frowned. “I think it was a little after ten. These affairs stretch into the night, and it was the first one of the week. They had musicians playing, and everyone was hobnobbing with great energy.”

  Which would make it difficult for those inside to hear a pistol shot. “Please think carefully. Were Luthera and Justice Harrington still at the opera house when you left?”

  “The Canadians? Yes, I believe so.”

  “Thee said William was there. How about Ned Bailey?”

  He pulled his mouth to the side. “I’m not sure about him.”

  “When thee escorted thy mother home, did thee see anything suspicious?”

  “No, although I heard someone in the dark coughing, as if he was ill.”

  “Could thee tell it was a man’s cough?” I asked. “The tubercular rale can be deep.”

  “True.” He narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps I’m not sure of the sex.”

  “What time did thee return to the opera house?”

  “I . . . wait.” He sat up straight and twisted to gaze at me. “On my way back, I thought I heard someone running.”

  “But thee didn’t see anyone running?”

  “No.”

  “Nor a body in the alley.”

  “No!” His eyes went wide. “I would have reported such a sight immediately.”

  I thought. “What about when thee rejoined the gathering? Did thee see any of those people I mentioned? Justice, Luthera, William, Ned?”

  “I can’t help with that. As soon as I reentered, I was cornered by some Brazilian gent I could barely understand. I truly witnessed nothing of import.”

  “I understand. Did thee tell all of this to the police?”

  “I might not have.” He tilted his head. “They didn’t ask the way you did.”

  “Don’t worry. I will relay what thee told me. Did thee catch the Brazilian’s name, by the way?”

  “He was a Mr. Amado. I think his first name was something like George, except he said it softer, like Zhor-zhee.”

  “Green eyes?”

  “Yes.” His own blue eyes widened. “How did thee know?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Now, go home and tell Faith everything. She loves thee. She will understand.”<
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  “I will.” Zeb blew out a noisy breath through his lips. “Rose, I thank thee. Will thee pray with me for a moment? I could use God’s guidance in thy presence.”

  “As could I.” We two Friends folded our hands in our laps and closed our eyes right there next to the public thoroughfare. Nowhere on this earth was the wrong place for praying. I held Zeb and Faith, Prudence and Kevin, and myself in God’s Light. I had faith that justice—the legal kind, as it was too late for the mortal one—would be served, as Way opened.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It didn’t take long to cycle the rest of the way down Main Street to the wide Merrimack River. I continued left along Point Shore on Merrimack Street, which paralleled the water, to Lowell’s Boat Shop. Other establishments also made ships and boats next to the river. Lowell’s had been in business for nearly a hundred years and had a fine reputation.

  A couple of minutes later I sat in Jonathan Sherwood’s small office with the din of hammers, saws, and men’s voices in the shop only slightly muffled by the door. A different, older woman sat in the front reception area, not the young, attractive one from a year ago.

  “How can I help you, Mrs. Dodge?” Jonathan folded his hands on the desk, which held only a ledger book, a neat stack of papers, and a light film of sawdust. “Would it be about the unfortunate death of Mr. Harrington?”

  “It would. Last night thee confirmed thy attendance at the Spring Opening gathering on Second Day evening. The night Justice was murdered.”

  “Isn’t the name an irony, though, now we know what happened to him?”

  I nodded in acknowledgment.

  “But you are here inquiring so as to rightly bring him justice,” Jonathan went on. “Yes, I was there, along with what seemed like half the town.”

  “I would like to understand what thee saw as the evening progressed. In particular, did thee notice when Justice left? Who else might have left the hall at the same time?”

  He propped one elbow in his hand and set his chin on the other fist, as if thinking. “Let me see, now. Mrs. Harrington seemed intent on conversing with all the carriage factory owners. She carried on a lengthy conversation with Mr. Parry. I believe she sees herself as the duly appointed representative of her father’s company.”

  “More than her husband, who worked for them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did thee happen to overhear any of Luthera’s and William’s words?” I asked.

  He pulled a wry grin. “Now I feel like an old fishwife telling tales.”

  “Sometimes an investigation has exactly that feel. But the police don’t always know what’s important until they put it all together.”

  “Very well. I was passing by the two—as well as Parry’s partner—on my way to the buffet table when I thought I heard the word ‘merge.’ Perhaps you’ve learned Mr. Parry’s constant mismanagement has led to some troubles with the financial health of his outfit.”

  “I have.”

  “To merge his company with the very successful Montgomery Carriage Company of Ottawa might be a wise step for Parry and an astute one for the northerners.”

  Did Zeb know of such a plan? “I suppose so, although it might mean William would no longer be the head of the company he founded,” I said. “I wonder if Justice agreed about a merging.”

  “That I couldn’t tell you. I did see Mr. Harrington putting his head together with Mr. Ned Bailey for some time early in the soiree, plus another man, a dark-haired foreigner.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “But thee didn’t hear what they talked about?” Had it been about the mysterious plans?

  “I didn’t.”

  “Or who the foreigner was?”

  He shook his head. “I only glimpsed green eyes, although I think I spied him at the Grand Hotel last night. My fishwife identity has its limits.”

  I smiled at the image of him as a fishwife for a moment. I remembered the green-eyed man—Amado, according to Zeb—sitting behind Ned and me at the Board of Trade meeting. Maybe he overheard the motorcar idea and approached Ned later about it.

  Jonathan added, “I will say the trio looked friendly and possibly excited.”

  “Does thee know Zebulon Weed, who works for William Parry?”

  “Yes, after a fashion. He seems an intelligent young man.”

  “He is, and he’s married to my niece. I’m afraid the police think he might have been involved in the killing.”

  “But why?” He frowned. “What has he to do with the Harringtons?”

  “Nothing, to be sure. One thing I am attempting is to clear his name. Can thee tell me if thee saw him leave the hall or return to it?”

  He pulled his mouth to the side. “He did escort a woman out, an older lady who appeared embarrassingly inebriated.”

  I blew out a breath. “It was his own mother, alas. Does thee remember the time?”

  “A bit after ten, I think.”

  The same as Zeb had said. “What else can thee tell me? Did thee witness Justice leave?” I’d asked him earlier, but he hadn’t answered.

  “No. Unlike many others, I didn’t stay on until late.”

  I sighed inwardly. Too bad.

  Jonathan continued. “As you can see, I’m in boat building, not the manufacture of carriages and their component parts. I’m only on the Board of Trade as a representative of this business because the Lowell family doesn’t care to become involved in the issues before the town.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Have the police been to ask thee for information about the night of the murder?”

  “Not yet. Until now I didn’t realize I had any.” He clasped his hands and shot a quick look at the clock on the wall, which was about to click over to ten thirty.

  A brief knock from the interior of the shop sounded, followed by a young man popping his sawdust-powdered head in. “Mr. Sherwood, we’d like your opinion on the new dory design, sir.”

  “I’ll be there forthwith.”

  The man touched his cap and shut the door.

  “Thee has work to do.” I stood. “And I must be on my way. I thank thee greatly for being forthcoming. Please do inform Kevin Donovan of any other details thee might remember.”

  “I shall, as you deem it important.” He also rose. “I hope you will take care in your investigation, Mrs. Dodge. To have an unapprehended killer in our midst is an unsettling thought.”

  “We are in agreement about that.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I stood outside the boat shop, considering my path. I also rued riding my cycle. The pregnant woman’s frequent need to pass water—one I knew well from my clients’ reports and was now experiencing for myself—was becoming an increasing problem. If I’d walked here or convinced David to drive me, I could easily hire a conveyance home or even hop on the trolley. But transporting a bicycle at the same time was out of the question.

  Perhaps I could leave the steel steed here for the moment. I truly wanted to convey what I’d learned to Kevin, and then I needed to prepare myself, both my attire and my emotions, for Orpha’s funeral in three hours. I slid the bike behind a pile of boards.

  I stuck my head back inside the front office. “I need to leave my bicycle here for a bit, perhaps until Second . . . I mean, Monday. May I?” I smiled to soften the request.

  The woman raised one eyebrow but didn’t object. “As you wish. I assume Mr. Sherwood approved your request?”

  The Amesbury-bound trolley clanked toward us.

  “I’m sure it’s not a problem for Jonathan. I thank thee.” I shut the door quickly. I was sure, but I didn’t want to wait for the Gorgon to go investigate. I dashed across the road and was about to raise my hand to hail the trolley to stop. Instead, a runabout pulled by a handsome dappled gray cut in front of the car.

  Luthera herself drove the two-seater open carriage. “Mrs. Dodge, would you like to ride with me?”

  The trolley clanged its bell. By pulling over for me, Luthera had blocked its way.

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p; I climbed in. “I thank thee.”

  The trolley driver clanged the bell again and let out a shout. “Outta my way, lady!”

  “We’d better get going,” I urged.

  Luthera, still in widow’s blacks, clucked to the horse. “Let the man stew for a moment. What does it matter if they arrive in town two minutes behind schedule?” She smiled.

  This was possibly the first time I’d seen her put on a pleasant face. Up to now she’d been alternately haughty, cold, or dismissive.

  “Is Wilson busy today?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. But there’s nothing like driving oneself to get to know a new place, is there?”

  “I would have to agree.”

  “You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

  I shot her a glance. I did want to speak with Kevin, but spending ladies-only time with Luthera might prove illuminating.

  “I need to return home by one o’clock, but it can’t be later than eleven right now,” I said.

  “Good.” Her voice turned flat. “Let’s make a small excursion.”

  Uh-oh. This might have been a big error in judgment on my part. She flicked the reins and the horse broke into a trot. I couldn’t very well jump out of a moving buggy, not in my condition, not ever.

  I cleared my throat. “Did thee hire this horse and carriage?”

  “Hire?” She cast me a scornful look. “Mr. Parry kindly lent me them.”

  Luthera seemed to have an elevated sense of herself and her position in society. It didn’t bear speaking of. In my experience, people who regarded themselves as above others often received painful life lessons teaching them otherwise. She would get those lessons in time, or not. It wasn’t my place to deliver them.

  We drove back toward Main Street without speaking. We passed the stately Union Congregational Church facing the water, crossed the Powow River bridge, then jogged left onto Washington Street to follow the bend in the river. The road was busy with drays and surreys, with shipbuilding shops, the coal depot, and a little farther down, the Merrimac Hat Company with its extensive brick buildings. Luthera was a skilled driver, but she was going too fast for my comfort, coming up close behind slower vehicles and passing them when she could.