Murder In Chelsea Part 12

"I know you just got home, and I didn't want to bother you," he said while she scooped coffee beans into the grinder with the jerky motions of the put-upon. "But Mrs. Brandt is having a tough time of it right now. Catherine's parents have turned up, and they want her back."

She'd started working the grinder, but she stopped and turned to him. "Catherine? The little girl?"

"Yes."

"And that's why you're here? Just to see the boy?"

"Yes, I told you-"

"I know what you told me. Who are they, these parents, and where have they been all this time?"

Frank gave her a brief version of the story while she finished making the coffee. She periodically registered her outrage with an astonished glance, but she made no comment until he'd finished. "So she took Catherine to her parents' house until we can get this all sorted out," he said.

"Those people don't deserve the child."

Frank sighed. "The Deckers haven't done anything-"

"Not them," she snapped. "The girl's parents. What kind of man carries on with an actress when his wife is dying, and what kind of woman gives her child to a stranger and leaves town for a year?"

At last, something Frank and his mother could agree on. "Which is why Mrs. Brandt doesn't want to turn the child over to them, not to mention the fact that she loves Catherine like she was her own. Besides, we don't know who killed the nursemaid or why, and until we do, Catherine might be in danger, too."

"Well, of course she is. You don't have to be a detective sergeant to figure that out!"

Frank couldn't argue with that. "So when Mrs. Brandt started crying in the middle of the street and asked if she could see Brian, I couldn't say no."

She made a derisive sound, but before he could figure out what she disapproved of this time, she said, "Go to your son. He sees little enough of you as it is. I'll let you know when the coffee's ready."

Frank found Sarah sitting on Brian's narrow bed, watching him play with his wooden train with tears in her eyes.

"He's going to wonder why you're crying," he said.

She blinked furiously as Brian jumped up to greet him and show him his train. When Frank looked back at her a few minutes later, she was smiling serenely, all trace of her misery banished.

A while later, his mother summoned them to the kitchen for the coffee, and Brian joined them. He got a cup like everyone else, but his contained milk with just a spoonful of coffee. Frank noticed with surprise that his mother had set a place for herself, too, and she joined them.

"Thank you so much, Mrs. Malloy," Sarah said, taking her seat at the table.

"Francis told me about your troubles. You mustn't let those people take the child from you."

Frank turned to Sarah, ready to rush to her defense, but she straightened up in her chair, a frown marring her lovely face. "But they're her natural parents. Don't you think they have a right to her?"

His mother made that derisive noise again. "People like that don't have a right to anything. That actress woman, she can't care anything for the girl. What kind of mother leaves her child like that, not even knowing where she is? A woman like that shouldn't be allowed to keep a cat!"

"You're absolutely right," Sarah said with a trace of her usual spirit. "But her father-"

"Making a baby don't mean a man is a father. If he really cared about giving her a good life, he would've married her mother before he made her instead of trying to make up for it later."

Sarah turned to him, the color high in her cheeks. "She's right. I shouldn't feel sorry for them."

Frank didn't know what was stranger, his mother giving Sarah advice or Sarah taking it. "No, you shouldn't."

Sarah turned back to his mother. "When I found her, she'd been abandoned, and she'd been frightened so badly, she couldn't speak for months. Heaven only knows what she saw or heard."

Someone pounded a little too enthusiastically at the door, startling all of them except Brian, whose attention was on trying to figure out what Sarah was talking about. His grandmother started signing to him while Frank got up to answer the knock.

"Has it been hard to learn to sign?" he heard Sarah asking his mother as he left the room.

Frank opened the door to a beat cop who had a message to him from Headquarters. He'd expected to just leave it for Frank's eventual return and was surprised to find him at home.

Frank read the message as he walked back to the kitchen.

The two women looked at him expectantly. "Emma Hardy wants to see me."

SARAH WANTED TO RUN TO THE ROOMING HOUSE WHERE Emma Hardy was staying, but Malloy wouldn't tell her where it was.

"Are you sure you want to meet this woman?" he asked her for at least the hundredth time in the last two blocks. Well, maybe he'd asked her more like three times, but it seemed like a hundred.

"Of course I want to meet her. She's Catherine's mother."

"And that's exactly why you shouldn't meet her. What if she cries and tells you how much she misses her daughter and how much she loves her? What will you do then? Give Catherine back to her and wish her good luck?"

Sarah tried to stop, but the surge of bodies around them kept moving forward, forcing her to go on or be knocked over. She grabbed Malloy's arm and pulled him into the alcove of a shop doorway, where they could concentrate on talking. "You're right to be concerned. An hour ago, I might have done just that, but your mother made me realize I can't."

"My mother is crazy."

"Everybody's mother is crazy, but what she said was perfectly correct."

"And it's just what everybody else has been telling you, too."

"Yes, but everybody else loves me and wants me to be happy, and they know I'd be shattered if I lost Catherine. I couldn't trust their judgment. But your mother . . ."

"My mother definitely does not love you."

"Of course she doesn't." Sarah knew Mrs. Malloy was terrified she was going to take Frank and Brian away from her and leave her with nothing, even though Malloy had never shown the slightest inclination to allow Sarah to do anything of the kind. "And she's not particularly interested in my happiness either, but if she sees that I can't allow Emma Hardy and David Wilbanks to take Catherine, then I know it's the right thing to do."

He still looked confused, but Sarah didn't have time to figure out why or even discuss it with him.

"We need to get to Emma Hardy. Let's go!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who stopped."

He took her arm and propelled her back into the flood of pedestrians making their way home for supper. In the press, they had no more opportunity for discussion, and concentrated their energies on arriving at their destination safely.

Malloy stopped in front of one of the large old houses on a street just off Broadway. Its blistered paint and sagging porch marked it as a rooming house. "This is where Anne Murphy lived for most of the time after she left Catherine at the Mission," he said. "She only moved to the place where you visited her when Emma wrote that she was coming home. Emma wanted Anne to move to a different place so she wouldn't be easily found."

"And this is the place where Wilbanks thought Emma lived when she was in plays in the city."

"That's right."

"Didn't she bring her lover back with her this time?"

Malloy gave her a small grin. "Let's ask her."

Sarah marched up the steps with Malloy at her heels and knocked on the door with as much authority as she could manage. At attractive woman about her own age opened the door. She frowned at Sarah, then looked past her to Malloy.

"Miss Hardy?" he asked.

"Are you Malloy?" she replied.

He nodded.

"And who's this?" She jutted her chin at Sarah.

"Do you really want to discuss your private business in the doorway?" Sarah asked in the tone that usually made even women in labor obey her.

Emma Hardy blinked in surprise, then glanced over her shoulder. Sarah could see several women gathered in the hallway behind her and making no effort to pretend they weren't eavesdropping.

"Mind your own business," she told them, sending them flouncing off. "Come in," she told Sarah.

When she stepped inside, she noticed the brightly colored posters adorning the walls in the entrance hall. They gave the place a cheerier air than most of the boardinghouses she'd seen.

Miss Hardy pointed to the parlor door, and Sarah went in. More posters hung here, but now Sarah could see they were faded and old. The worn furniture marked it as a common area, shared by all but enjoyed by none. Malloy followed her, and Emma Hardy closed the parlor door behind them.

"Now, who are you?" she asked Sarah.

Sarah smiled. "Mrs. Brandt."

Emma apparently saw no reason to acknowledge the introduction. She was a striking woman, and Sarah could see why she had caught Wilbanks's eye, even from the chorus. She'd pulled her dark hair up into a sloppy Gibson Girl knot, but it shone in the fading sunlight like a raven's wing. Her dark hair contrasted well with her milky skin, still smooth and clear. She wore a dress of deep burgundy, which might be the "red" dress Carrie had described. It hugged her womanly curves. Her large, dark eyes probably looked mysterious when she wanted them to. Right now they just looked angry.

"Let's sit down," Malloy said. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

Malloy and Sarah sat together on the sofa, and Emma took an overstuffed chair opposite them. Sarah noticed stuffing coming out of one of the arms.

"Where's Catherine?" Emma asked when they were seated. "Mrs. Dugan said you know where she is."

Sarah glanced at Malloy, who said, "Mrs. Dugan is the landlady." To Miss Hardy, he said, "I do know where she is."

"Then give her to me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm her mother!"

Sarah felt the fury rise up in her like a tidal wave. "And what kind of mother goes off and leaves her child for a year without a thought?"

"I thought of her! I thought of her all the time I was gone!"

"And did you wonder where she was and what she was doing?"

"She was with Anne! I left her with Anne."

"Miss Hardy," Malloy said in that infuriating voice men use when they think women need to be calmed down. "We know you left her with Anne Murphy. Do you know that Miss Murphy was murdered?"

"Of course I know it! Mrs. Dugan told me first thing when I got here this afternoon. Anne was supposed to meet me with Catherine. So where is my child?"

"She's safe," Sarah said.

"I should hope so. I was furious when I found out Annie had left her at some settlement house, like she was an orphan or something. Just tell me where she is and I'll go get her."

"What will you do when you get her?" Malloy asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. What are your plans for Catherine's future?"

"Her future is she'll live with me and grow up. What other plans do I need?"

"I'd be interested in how you plan to take care of her if you're an actress," Sarah said.

"That's none of your affair. I'm her mother, and she belongs with me."

"Does she?" Malloy asked. "And how does Mr. Vaughn feel about raising somebody else's child?"

Her shock was almost comical, but Sarah didn't feel much like laughing. "What does that mean?"

"Stop asking me what things mean, Miss Hardy, when you know perfectly well what they mean. I know about Parnell Vaughn and how you were living with him when David Wilbanks was paying Mrs. Dugan for you to live here."

"I never!"

"Mrs. Dugan told me everything, so don't bother to deny it. Now what are you and Vaughn planning to do with the child when you get her? Were you going to extort money from Wilbanks for her, by chance?"

"I . . . I don't know what extort means," she said, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Were you going to ask Wilbanks to give you money in exchange for the child?" he said with elaborate patience.

"He wants her, I know. Why shouldn't I get something out of it? I gave up my career to have her. He owes me something, doesn't he?"

Any lingering sympathy she might have felt for Emma Hardy evaporated. "Whose idea was that?" Sarah asked.

Emma glared at Sarah. "It wasn't n.o.body's idea. It's just the right thing to do."

"We're not going to tell you where Catherine is," Malloy said.

The color bloomed in her cheeks. "You can't do that! She's my flesh and blood. You can't keep her away from me!" She turned her fury on Sarah, but before she could utter a word, her eyes widened in surprise. "You! Annie said some rich woman who volunteered at the Mission took Catherine. That was you, wasn't it?"

Sarah didn't answer, but it was no use. She felt the heat in her cheeks, and she knew Emma saw the truth on her face.