three

Kevin Donovan squatted next to Rowena’s body twenty minutes later, the silver buttons on the detective’s blue serge uniform straining. He narrowed his eyes as he examined the still form without touching it. He glanced up at me. I shivered from waiting in the cold for what had seemed like hours but had been more like thirty minutes. It had been a sad vigil, but I wasn’t about to leave Rowena’s side.

“So you say you saw Mrs. Felch last evening, Miss Rose? About what time?”

“I was at a meeting from seven to eight thirty or so, I’d say.”

“What kind of meeting would that have been?”

“It was the Woman Suffrage Association.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re getting yourself involved with those radicals now, are you?” He took off his hat and rubbed his wispy carrot-colored hair, then replaced the hat.

“Indeed I am. But women’s suffrage is not the business of this morning.” Or was it? Perhaps she’d been killed because of her political activities.

“How can you be so sure? I’ll need to talk with you later about who else was at the gathering and what took place there.”

“Regardless, this was not a natural death, Kevin. Look at those marks.” I gestured to two wide indented lines in the dirt near Rowena’s feet. “I very much doubt she put herself neatly on her back under a lilac to die. Someone dragged her to that spot.”

He nodded. “I think you’re right. Gilbert,” he called to Guy Gilbert, the young officer who’d come in the police wagon with him, “help me move her out from here.” Kevin boosted himself up with an “oomph.”

“Make sure you keep that note in her hand.” I pointed.

His eyebrows went up. “I should say we will. Could be an important clue.”

A minute later they’d shifted the body onto the path leading to the front door. Rowena’s upper body was stiff, but her legs and feet flopped. Kevin leaned over and turned her onto her side facing away from him. Her left arm stuck up in a sadly grotesque fashion. Kevin pointed.

“Whacked on the back of the head, from all appearances.”

I gasped and brought my hand to my mouth. Rowena’s light hair was matted with dried blood. Guy took a step back and stood somberly, hands clasped behind his back.

“It’ll be up to the coroner to figure out if the blow killed her, or something else.” Kevin gently rolled her onto her back again.

“What a terrible thing,” I said. “To hit her and then leave her here in the cold all night.” My heart went out to Rowena. I prayed she hadn’t regained consciousness to realize she was dying. I shivered and pulled my cloak closer around me. My lack of sleep was taking its toll. My nerves buzzed and I was slightly sick from exhaustion. But at least I was alive.

“Murderers don’t have a care for such things, Miss Rose.” Kevin stood.

“But her death might have been an accident.” I moved toward the house and beckoned for him to join me, then showed him the broken glass in the door. “I peered in a window toward the back and saw the dining room in great disarray, as if it had been robbed. Maybe she came home from the meeting to find a robbery in progress and the criminal hit her so he could escape.”

“Possible.”

“Except the broken glass is on the outside. Wouldn’t it be on the inside if someone broke in?”

“Good observation, Miss Rose.” He peered into the hall on the other side of the door. “There are shards of glass in there, too. It must have fallen both ways.”

“I suppose.”

“Show me the ransacked room, would you?”

I led him along the side of the house and pointed to the window. “In there.”

He pursed his lips. “Looks like a robbery, all right. Where in blazes is her husband, is what I want to know.”

“Maybe he’s traveling. I’m not certain this is her house, but if not, why would she be under that particular bush?”

With a great clatter another wagon pulled around the corner onto the street, bells ringing, hooves clopping. The ambulance pulled to a halt.

Kevin strode out to greet the driver, shook his head, and pointed to Rowena. I returned to the front, too, pausing at the lilac. I narrowed my eyes, spying something white where Rowena’s body had laid. I knelt to see a fine lady’s handkerchief edged in lilac-colored thread, its white linen now stained with blood. I picked it up by a corner and turned it in front of my face, but I couldn’t see a monogram or indication of whose it was. I sniffed, thinking I detected a scent on it, but I couldn’t identify what it was. The handkerchief could be Rowena’s. Or it could belong to the killer.

At a soft wet touch on my nose, I looked up. The snow had arrived, falling in gentle sparse flakes all around.

I sat in the police wagon with Kevin in front of the house after they’d taken away the body. He’d offered to give me and my bicycle a ride home, which I gratefully accepted. The snow now blanketing the world, combined with my fatigue, had made the decision easy. A church bell tolled nine times. Guy stood watch in front of the house until such time as the summoned police reinforcements arrived to investigate the burglary. White flakes speckled his dark blue police great coat.

I handed Kevin the handkerchief. “This was under the lilac. It must have been hidden beneath Rowena’s body.”

He took it and examined it as I had. “No initials. Ever seen one like it?”

“No. All ladies carry one, though.”

“Not all as fine as this one.” He thanked me for finding the handkerchief and pocketed it. “Now, I need to know more about this meeting and about Mrs. Felch. What can you tell me?”

“Rowena led the meeting, which was held at the Free Will Baptist Church. They’re organizing a demonstration for Tuesday in front of the polling place—”

“The devil you say!”

I stared at him over the top of my spectacles. “The devil has nothing to do with it. We have every right to show our displeasure with being shut out of the electoral process. Half the population, Kevin. Half the adults in this country are forbidden to decide who our lawmakers will be. It’s simply not right.”

“All right, go on, go on.” He waved a hand.

“Rowena chaired the meeting. She discussed logistics for the demonstration, but it was also a sort of rally to raise the women’s spirits. Elizabeth Cady Stanton made an appearance, too.”

“I’ve heard of her.”

“I should hope thee has.” Elizabeth was famous nationally for joining with Lucretia Mott forty years earlier to hold the first women’s rights convention in Seneca Falls. My mother had told me the story as a bedtime tale since before I could remember. She’d proudly pointed out that all the organizers except Elizabeth were Friends.

“Did you see anyone disagreeing with Mrs. Felch at the gathering? Any arguments?” Kevin asked.

“I didn’t hear them talking, but a young woman named Zula Goodwin was looking very unhappy with Rowena. I don’t know why.”

He nodded. “I know of a Mr. Goodwin. Prosperous gent. Must be her father. Think Miss Goodwin would know the whereabouts of Mr. Felch?”

“Possibly. Bertie told me Oscar is a physician. I’ll be seeing David Dodge later today.”

“Your doctor fellow?”

I nodded. “I can ask him if he knows. Perhaps a medical convention is underway somewhere to which Oscar might have traveled.”

“Leaving his wife alone to stir up trouble with you and the suffragettes.”

“May I remind thee that it’s a good and right trouble she was stirring up, Kevin?”

“Be that as it may. I’m just not sure if all this change is good for the world, for our country.” He tapped the dashboard in front of us. The horse stomped a hoof and made a whoofing sound. Kevin spoke soothingly to it.

“What if the killer is someone who is adamant about women not getting the vote and wanted to silence her?” I gazed at the horse, thinking aloud. “I hope he doesn’t plan to pick off the protesters one by one, starting with Mrs. Felch, and make them all look like burglaries. He’d have to kill a lot of people, in that case. The numbers of women—and men—in favor of enfranchisement are only growing.”

“I suppose. But it could just be an interrupted break-in, plain and simple. Let’s think about what else we know.”

Because I’d assisted Kevin in several murder investigations, by now he welcomed rather than rejected my thoughts and the pieces of information collected. I traveled in circles and to places he never could—women’s bedchambers and suffrage meetings, for a start—and he knew it.

“Mrs. Felch was alive at least until, say, nine o’clock last evening.” He ticked off the facts on his fingers. “You happened across her at seven thirty this morning and her upper body was already stiff, so I’d venture a guess she was killed pretty close after nine. Rigor mortis can take up to twelve hours to completely set in, especially in the cold.”

He had educated me on the process of the muscles contracting after death. “So the delay would explain her floppy legs.” I glanced at him. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned a woman’s legs.

Kevin shifted, in fact looking uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Exactly. And we know someone broke into the house. I’ll have my men round up the motley crew of locals who make a practice of common thievery. They don’t usually resort to murder, though.”

“I wanted to tell you something odd about the break-in. I tried the front door and it was locked. If the robber broke the glass in order to unlock the door, why wasn’t the door open?”

“Could he have come in the back door?”

“Then why break the glass in the front door?”

“Good question. You did observe that most of the shards were on the outside, which fits with breaking the glass from inside. What else?”

“Bertie told me Rowena was leaving her husband. Bertie said he wants to have children and Rowena didn’t.”

Kevin opened his mouth and then shut it again. In my experience with him, I knew he often expressed the typical opinion of men about women’s place. On the other hand, I’d also grown to know that, when it came right down to it, Kevin was fair and only wanted to ensure justice was done.

“I’d certainly like to know where the husband is now,” Kevin said at last. “Could be he was furious about his wife’s moving out. They got into a fight and he hit her over the head.”

“Then faked the burglary? A fake would explain why the front door was locked.”

“Indeed it could.”

“Bertie also said Zula Goodwin had offered to share her flat with Rowena,” I went on.

“The unhappy Miss Goodwin?”

“Just so. Possibly Rowena refused her offer and Zula was unhappy, or even irate. But surely she wouldn’t kill Rowena over it.” The tragedy of Rowena’s life being cut short dragged down my heart like a millstone.

“Nothing is sure at the moment, Miss Rose. You more than anyone should know that.”