I made my way to the Union Store after checking at the telegram office. No message from my father had awaited. Perhaps he was busy, or maybe it was simply too soon for a reply to my inquiry. I surveyed the store but didn’t see Brigid anywhere. What a pity. I wanted to ask her if she knew anything about Frannie going to Falmouth.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a barrel-chested man in a long apron called out from behind the store’s counter, where Brigid had been the day before.
I approached him, thinking quickly if there was anything David and I could use at the house. “Good morning. I am in need of a bottle of milk and a half dozen eggs, if thee has them.”
“We surely do, ma’am. You’re one of them Quakers, I see. New to town?”
“I am.” I smiled at him. “My name is Rose Dodge. My husband and I are in West Falmouth for a few days visiting my aunts Tilly and Drusilla Carroll.”
“Those are two fine ladies. I’m Gilbert Boyce, and I manage the store. Quite the pity about Miss Tilly’s ward, may she rest in everlasting peace.”
“It’s very much a pity.”
“Well, let me get those supplies for you.” He disappeared into the back.
He’d said “manage.” Did he also own the store? And was he the one Abial had been peeved not to find?
Gilbert emerged holding a quart of cold milk, with moisture already forming on the glass, and a small metal box with a lid. He flipped open the top, revealing six eggs nestled in individual stiff paper sleeves. “How do you like this? I invented it myself.”
“It’s a grand improvement over loose eggs in a basket, I’d say. Thee must have a tinkerer’s mind.”
“Yes, I do, Mrs. Dodge. I do, indeed.” He stroked one of his long bushy sideburns. “Matter of fact, young Miss Isley used to come in and pester me with questions about my inventions. She was a tinkerer, too.”
A tiny lady with a wicker basket over her arm piped up. “May she rest in peace, young Frannie.” A widow’s hump misshaped her upper back.
“Did thee know her, ma’am?” I asked.
“Not to speak with, but everyone knew who the girl was, and I’d see her in here from time to time conversing.” She pointed with a tanned and wizened finger at the shopkeeper, a smile splitting her face under a faded man’s derby. “He’s quite the inventor, is our Mr. Boyce.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Bugos,” Gilbert said. “Let me know what I can help you with.”
“You know I will. I can wait until you’re done with this nice lady.” She fixed a keen gaze on me for a moment, then made her way with an uneven gait down an aisle.
“Can I help you find something else, ma’am?” Gilbert asked me.
“Nothing material, but I thank thee. Thee is the manager here. Does thee also own the store? An Abial Latting was in yesterday quite peeved with not finding the owner at hand.”
“Oh, him. No, ma’am, I’m not the owner. I just run the place for him. And Latting? What isn’t he peeved about?” His laugh was a hearty one. “I’m glad not to tangle with the man, though.”
Interesting. “I had occasion to meet Brigid McChesney here yesterday. Might she be here today, as well?”
“Yes. The girl’s a good worker, and I’m lucky to have her in my employ. I think she’s around the side sweeping up.” When a woman bustled in with three children, the shopkeeper greeted them, then said to me, “It’ll be sixteen cents, Mrs. Dodge.”
I paid him and drew out the cloth bag I’d remembered to bring on my peregrinations. “I thank thee, Gilbert,” I said. “I’ll return these containers before I depart for the north.”
“I’d appreciate you doing so.”
Making my way outside, I indeed discovered an aproned Brigid sweeping the perimeter of the store. “Hello, Brigid.”
Startled, she looked up. “Mrs. Dodge, I didn’t hear you.” She paused in her work, holding the broom with one hand.
“Please call me Rose, Brigid.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that, ma’am. Can I be helping you with something, then?”
I decided to come out with it. “Did thee know anything about Frannie seeking employment in Falmouth? Did she venture down there on occasion?”
Her expression turned stony. “You’re after asking about that man, aren’t you?” She nearly spat the word “man.”
Currie. “What man?”
“The one looking for girls for his nasty show. Girls willing to take off their clothes and parade around on a stage. It’s filthy stuff, Mrs. Dodge, make no mistake about it. He’s a corrupter of innocent souls, that one.”
“Does thee happen to know his name?”
“Nah, I don’t. Frannie wasn’t after telling me. But she was falling under his spell. She’d come back on the train with right stars in her eyes.” Her own eyes filled. “I miss the girl, plain and simple.” She sniffed and straightened her back. “If that despicable man was involved in her death, I’ll be wanting to harpoon him straight through the heart.”
She and I both.
“Brigid?” Gilbert’s voice rang out from the back door.
“That would be me. Good day, Mrs. Dodge.” She hurried toward the back, broom in hand.
“Thank thee, Brigid,” I called after her. The man had to be Currie, didn’t it? If it was, I still didn’t know how he’d found Frannie. Maybe she’d gone to Falmouth on a lark and seen a handbill. Or maybe he journeyed up to this hamlet to find innocent girls. I hated that it was my own David’s brother I was suspecting, my own brother-in-law. But what I’d learned was pointing in Currie’s direction, at least in terms of luring girls to his show.
A dray piled high with pumpkins pulled up next to where I stood, the workhorse pulling it plodding under the load. I finally dislodged myself from my reverie. It was time to pay Edwin another call.
Five minutes later I trudged out of Huldah’s office. The detective had not been in. Larkin didn’t seem to know where he was, or maybe he knew but didn’t want to tell me. He was at least polite today. I had one more stop to make, and then I was resolved to return to my new husband and forget about murder for the rest of the day.