seventeen

I’d rejoined the demonstrators by half past four. Emily’s baby had indeed been well on its way when I arrived, after a brief stop at my house to pick up my birthing satchel. Emily’s older sister was in attendance, too. She seemed to provide just the right amount of care to the laboring mother without the nervous hovering I sometimes saw from kin. I’d had only enough time to wash my hands and lay out my kit when Emily began to groan. Four pushes later and I held a healthy baby boy in my hands, the family’s first son. Such was often—but not always—the case with second and subsequent babies. As the experienced Emily had had no issues with feeding her son, nor had he taking the breast, I’d cleaned up, and left, telling her I’d be back in two days’ time to see how they were doing. I gratefully accepted a ride retracing my steps to the demonstration. Would that all births were so easy and happy.

A steady stream of men entered and left the Armory. Frederick had shown up, voted, and left with only a brief hello for us. Two young fellows in tweed caps strolled in front of the Armory, one taller and heavier, the other shorter and slight. The latter carried a silver flask, and they both sported flushed faces. They crossed the street toward the other end of our line and walked along its length, raking each woman up and down with their gaze. The officer guarding the polling place watched the men but didn’t intervene, just as he hadn’t earlier with Dunnsmore. I thought I might have a word with Kevin about him if I got the chance.

When the men approached where I stood, I could hear rude commentary.

“Here’s a pretty one,” the taller of the two said as he passed me, fumes of alcohol tainting the air.

“Oh, yes. Hey, missy, you free tonight?” the other asked, then sniggered.

I just watched them go. Engaging with such an insult could only make things worse, and I was glad Faith and Jasmine weren’t there. Being pretty and young, they surely would have been subjected to worse words and would be less well-equipped to handle them. Bertie folded her arms and stepped in front of the scoundrels.

“Not so fast, boys,” she said. “You apologize to Miss Carroll and do it now. Did your mother teach you to be rude to ladies in public?”

The one with the flask unscrewed it and took a drag. “You’re all putting yourselves on display like ladies of the night. We’re just treating you like we do them.”

I saw Kevin coming up behind them and I smiled.

“I said apologize, and I meant it,” Bertie demanded.

Kevin grabbed the collar of each young man. “These scoundrels giving you trouble, ladies?”

“Hey,” the shorter one said, trying to twist away.

“They certainly are, Detective,” Bertie said.

“Detective?” the taller one screeched.

“You bet,” Kevin said.

“They’ve said something rude to every one of us, including Rose, and they’re well liquored, too.”

“You’re both going to be sobering up in jail tonight.” Kevin blew his whistle and the officer across the street ran over. “Take these idiots out of here, will you?”

“Yes, sir.” He marched the two suddenly subdued rascals away.

“Thank thee, Kevin,” I said.

“Anybody else been bothering you ladies?”

“Not since this morning,” I said. “You heard about the attack, I trust?”

“The stupid act of one Leroy Dunnsmore? Indeed I did. I’ve already had a little conversation with him in his jail cell.”

I introduced Kevin to my mother.

“You raised one smart and brave daughter,” he told her.

“I thank thee,” she replied. “It’s really of her own doing, though.” She regarded me with pride etched into her face.

Kevin glanced at Bertie and back at Mother. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” He took my elbow and we walked around the corner onto Pond Street where it was quiet. I gladly perched on a stone wall in the shade of a tall maple.

“How are thy wife and son, Kevin?”

“Both blessedly on the mend. Thank you for asking. But what I wanted to tell you is Dunnsmore claims he had nothing to do with Mrs. Felch’s death, that he didn’t even know her.” Kevin removed his hat and rubbed his hair. “Regardless, he’s still in big trouble from the attempted shooting.”

“Thee could check his statement with Zebulon Weed. Leroy might have spoken of Rowena at work.”

“Good idea. That Weed boy did a brave thing this morning. I’ll see to it he gets a glowing commendation from the department.”

“Thee will run a good risk of embarrassing him, but I think giving Zeb recognition is an excellent idea.”

“Dunnsmore also claims he was with his wife all night Saturday, but as we know, marital attestation isn’t a particularly reliable alibi,” Kevin said. “Husbands and wives will go to great lengths to keep each other out of trouble.”

“If a gun is his weapon of choice, though, wouldn’t he have shot Rowena, too?” I asked.

“Hard to know.”

“I think I told thee about Elbridge Osgood. I had a little conversation with him and his wife, Lyda, today when he came to vote. Apparently neither of them believes a woman should have the same right. He also seemed quite bitter about Rowena taking his job.”

“Thank you. He’s on my list to talk to.”

“In fact, he said he wished he’d killed her himself.”

Kevin’s eyes widened. “You don’t say.”

“I do. I heard him with my own ears. His wife scolded him for saying it, but the words were already out.”

He made a tsking sound and shook his head. “Some men are just idiots.”

Did he mean stupid but not homicidal? I couldn’t tell. “Bertie told me Sophie Ribeiro said Elbridge isn’t regarded as particularly smart.”

“Who’s this Ribeiro lady?” Kevin frowned.

“She’s Bertie’s, um, friend, and she’s a lawyer, too. She and Bertie live together. The name is Portuguese.”

“Unusual.”

“Anyway, I wanted to tell thee I stopped into the law firm of Bixby & Batchelder yesterday. It turns out they let Elbridge go. Lyda had told me it was because Rowena was promoted. But the secretary at the firm said it was because he wasn’t a very good lawyer, and that at the time he was furious at their action.”

“You’ve been busy, Miss Rose.”

“I’m just trying to help. I also spoke with Oscar Felch this morning when he came to vote. He seems quite bereft at Rowena’s death but had no understanding of her desire not to become a mother. He seemed to blame Zula entirely for Rowena’s plans to leave him.”

“I had a rather unproductive conversation with him, myself.”

“He told me he felt you suspect him.” I watched a work horse plod by hauling an open wagon piled high with coal.

“Well, I have to, don’t I? Here’s my thinking: He’s angry she’s spoiled his plans for a family, he doesn’t want to continue to support her if she’s off lawyering, and he wants to find a new young wife who doesn’t have so many independent thoughts. It makes sense to me.”

“I suppose, although he has cause to feel abandoned and sad at the loss of his dream. Most spurned men do not become killers, do they?”

“Of course not.”

“But if you’re correct, then you’d have to find the person he hired to do the deed.” Like Hilarius, maybe. I didn’t voice my thought. I liked the man and didn’t want him to be a killer, but I did wonder if there was underlying history of his I wasn’t aware of. I expected being a hired killer might bring in a tidy sum of money that he was desperate for. David had said Hilarius supported an ill mother as well as his own family. Perhaps her medicines were quite dear. I’d ask David. He would know. How awful if he killed a woman to save a woman, though. “Is there any other news on the case?”

“I am exceedingly sorry to say there is not. My chief is even sorrier, I’ll tell you.” He let out a deep sigh. “Solving a case requires a detective be three things. Can you think what they might be?”

“Thee must be persistent, I’d say.”

“Yes, dogged is one. Imaginative is another, exploring ideas which on the face of them might not appear possible.”

I nodded. “And lucky must be the third?”

“Precisely. Very good, Miss Rose. Sometimes luck is kind enough to lend us her fair hand. But we must have all three to be successful. Being dogged and lucky without creativity doesn’t bring the answers, neither does luck plus imagination without being stubborn enough to follow up leads.”

“Nor would being dogged and creative without serendipity.” It hadn’t been particularly creative to round up the petty thieves in town earlier, though. Kevin didn’t always practice what he preached. I kept that thought to myself. “And speaking of luck, I did happen to see Zula’s handwriting yesterday. I thought it bore a similarity to the scribing on the note Rowena held.”

“Oh?” His fair eyebrows went up.

“Yes, it also featured upright kinds of letters. But they leaned almost backward. Have you asked her for a sample of her writing?”

“Not yet, but I will. Good sleuthing, Miss Rose.”

From around the corner came the strains of the women singing our invented “Battle Hymn of the Vote.” I hummed along.

Kevin rolled his eyes but smiled. “I rather like your ditty.”

“Bertie and I made it up this morning.”

“The more I consider it, the more I think you ladies are right. You should be as equal citizens with men. And I should thank you all for maintaining such a peaceful demonstration today. Maybe if we had more ladies in our government, we’d have less war, and fewer quarrels and disturbances people like me have to handle.”

“I’m glad thee has seen our side of the argument.” That would be the day, when women could not only vote but also run for office. And win. Maybe we’d even have a female president one day.