“Thee should have seen Tilly’s face when the detective asked her if she knew Frannie had been with child.” David and I strolled down the main street of Falmouth in the late afternoon that day, his headache blessedly vanquished. “But she never actually answered his question, nor did Dru.”
“Has the autopsy confirmed her gravid state?”
“Not that I know of. The medical examiner was only to arrive at midday.”
“You imagine perhaps Tilly or Dru knew, after all?” he asked.
“I think when one lives in close proximity with another, it’s hard to miss the signs.” I walked a few more paces, passing the wide front porch of a mansard-roofed Walker’s Pharmacy. Beyond it was Malchman’s Clothing Store and Hewins Dry Goods. “That said, maybe my aunts didn’t see what Zerviah saw. Neither Tilly nor Dru bore children themselves.”
“Unless they did, or at least Tilly.”
“True enough, dear husband. Nearly everything about the case is as yet unresolved, alas.”
The oppressive weather had lifted. With the sun two hours from setting, it was a pleasant time of day to take in the sights of the town, which featured a lovely green anchored by a white Congregational church. Falmouth was a far more bustling town than its sleepy neighbor to the north.
I laughed softly. “Why in the world do they call it West Falmouth when it is due north from where we stand?”
“By George, you’re right. I hadn’t considered that. The answer will have to come from the historians or geographers, not us.”
We came to Falmouth Town Hall, a two-story wood-frame structure that looked recently built. Contrasting trim framed multiple sections of tall windows, and a tower rose up from the front. Pausing in front of a bakery, I peered at a poster for a burlesque show pasted to the window. The advertisement for the Bon-Ton Burlesquers showed a shapely woman in a fringed costume covering only her torso. With feathers in her hair and heeled shoes, an oversized fan was her only contribution to modesty.
“Is this what is known as a variety show?” I pointed to the poster.
“I believe so, yes.”
“It doesn’t leave much variety for the imagination about her physique, does it?”
Two well-dressed matrons approached us on the sidewalk. One looked from me to the poster and back and muttered something in her friend’s ear. The other glared, and both gave us a wide berth as they passed.
David winked at me. “I can see the headline now. Wicked Quaker Lures New Husband to Showgirls.”
I snorted. “I don’t care what they think, but I am exceedingly famished. Shall we hie ourselves to our supper?” We were to dine at the Tower House Hotel restaurant in Falmouth Heights, where we would have been staying if Frannie were still alive.
His smile disappeared faster than sea spume after a wave crashes on a rock.
“What is it?” I asked. I looked where he was looking. Oh! Currie sauntered toward us. “He’s already back?”
“Looks like he followed us down here, after all,” David murmured. “He obviously didn’t stay and make things right with Mother. Rose, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
All I could do was tuck my arm snugly through his.
“If it isn’t my newly wed brother and my dear newly acquired sister,” Currie said when he reached us, all bonhomie and bluster. “How fortuitous to encounter you on the streets of this fine town.” He tipped his bowler at me, then extended a gloved hand to each of us. “I didn’t know where to reach the happy couple in the wilds of West Falmouth, but here I find you.”
“Hello, Currie,” David said. “You decided not to tarry with our parents, I see.”
Currie’s smile dimmed. “I had, ah, business to attend to.” When he caught sight of the poster, his beam returned. “The very business depicted on the advertisement in front of which you stand, as a matter of fact.”
He’d said he was in the entertainment business. I now knew what he’d meant.
I dropped his hand. “What is your role in the variety show, Currie?”
“A little of this, a bit of that, you might say.” He didn’t meet my gaze. “I’m what one might call a talent scout for young female performers, always looking for new and accomplished girls. And of course we seek to scare up bigger audiences. I do all the above and much more. Things of a miscellaneous nature, you understand.”
I most certainly did not understand what these miscellaneous things might be. And what kind of talent? I didn’t care to ask.
“You’ll have to invite us to your home some evening this week,” David said. “I’d like to see where my brother has landed.”
Currie cleared his throat. “I don’t know about that, my dear Davey. It would be far more gay to take you two out on the town, as it were. Why, this very show is on tomorrow night at the theater right here in Falmouth. I can offer excellent seats to you both.”
“We thank thee kindly for the offer, Currie,” I said before David could respond. “We’ll have to talk it over. Where can we reach thee?”
“You can write to me care of the theater. I’m there every day, aren’t I?”
“Very well,” David said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re on our way to our first dinner out as a married couple. I’d ask you to join us, but we’ve reserved the last available table, and it seats only two.”
“Of course, of course. I already had plans, anyway.” His laugh sounded hollow to my ears.
“Good evening, Currie,” I said. “We’ll see thee again soon.”
He tipped his hat anew and strolled away from us, whistling “A Rollicking Band of Pirates We.”
I waited to speak until we were well along in the opposite direction. “What does thee think he meant by talent scout, my dear?”
“First, I hope you’ll forgive me for not inviting him to dinner with us and for lying to him. I have no idea how many tables are still available at the place, but I didn’t want Currie to eat with us.” He let out a sigh. “You saw how overjoyed I was to see him appear at our reception, but in truth he and I have not always gotten along.”
“I understand. Families can be difficult. I would like to get to know Currie better in some setting, but our intimate dinner for two isn’t the venue.” In some setting where liquor and boasting were not included, with any luck.
“Thank you for understanding, dear Rose. About the talent, I expect he’s looking for fresh young girls who can sing and dance and don’t mind performing in a burlesque costume—or lack thereof.” He held up a hand to hail a passing conveyance for hire.
My heart chilled despite the warm afternoon. Dru had said Frannie, who had a pretty voice, was a genius at picking up songs. She’d told us the girl was graceful and loved to move. I’d formed an instinctive distrust of David’s brother. If Currie had somehow convinced Frannie to try out for the role of showgirl, what else might have happened?