I finished outlining what I had seen and heard and sat back in my chair across from Edwin. “Was evidence on the dory the lead thee mentioned this morning? Traces of blood, perhaps?”
He tented his fingers. “No, Mrs. Dodge, it wasn’t. You say Miss Bowman is out in her dory now?”
“I don’t know if she has returned or not. She rowed away with her friend at about two o’clock.”
Edwin pulled out a pocket watch. “And it’s nearly half past three now. I’ll get a man down there.”
I thought for a moment. “It’s a pity Effie Bugos doesn’t have better vision.”
“It is that and more.”
“Has thee discounted the idea of Frannie dying alone from an accidental fall in a boat? She could have hit her head on the edge and fallen in.”
“Boats are not so wide to allow the type of contusion she had. I can imagine her unbalancing and falling, but she would have hit her back or her torso, not the back of the head.”
“I suppose so.” So much for that idea.
Larkin stuck his head in the doorway. “You’ve got your meeting with the sheriff, sir.”
Edwin thanked him and stood, then asked me, “Do you have anything else about the case?”
I rose, too. “Only that Effie mentioned Abial Latting’s habit of diddling girls, as she put it.” Pronouncing the word made me blush. “I know he is a prominent businessman in the community, but I think his activities bear looking into.”
“And I shall.” He whistled. “It won’t be pretty, though.”
Neither is what Abial has been up to. At least Edwin had heard me out about Hazel and the dory. I was grateful to have encountered a detective who listened with respect to my ideas about the case. Kevin’s advice to him could be the reason. Many police officers would automatically discredit the word of a woman not yet thirty and refuse to give her opinions a second thought. Like young Larkin earlier this week, whom Edwin had set straight. Law enforcement departments rarely employed women, and when they did the matron’s job was confined to care of women in the lockup. I could only imagine the day when uniformed men and women would serve side by side without prejudice or sex-restricted roles. I hoped one day to have the chance to meet one of the famous Pinkerton girls, who did valuable undercover investigative work for the agency. Some might call them infamous, but, oh, the stories we could share.
Once down the stairs, I aimed myself at the market. I hoped to have a missive from David. Who knew, maybe I could convince Brigid to talk more about Hazel or even Abial, if she were at work. I went in. A shelf of hurricane lamps near the door smelled of kerosene, but farther in a bin of unground wheat gave off an earthy, somewhat sweet scent.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Dodge,” Brigid called from behind the counter.
I waved in return. I wanted to speak with her but headed first for the post office counter. “Does thee have anything for Rose Dodge?”
The clerk wordlessly handed over an envelope addressed to me with David’s and my new address as return. The envelope bore a blue Special Delivery stamp bearing the words, “Special Postal Delivery. Secures Immediate Delivery at Any Post Office.” It featured a picture of a postman running, letter in hand, and cost ten cents.
I slid open the flap of the envelope from my husband. The note, dated this morning at seven o’clock, wasn’t a long one.
Dearest Rose,
I write to tell you Mother’s health is out of the woods. Her condition has stabilized. She is clear of mind, is sitting up and taking soft nourishment, and breathes with ease. I still hear some disturbance when I listen to her heart, but for the moment her life is not threatened.
I’m very sorry not to be there with you and trust you are well and staying safe. Please let me know when you plan to return to my welcoming arms.
With undying love,
Your adoring husband
I smiled to read his affectionate words. Our letters had crossed in the mail. I found it remarkable his had traveled all this distance in a matter of hours. Special Delivery mail must come down on the Flying Dude. Tomorrow David should receive news of my planned return on Seventh Day. I read the letter over again. Clarinda’s health had improved remarkably fast, making me wonder if Currie’s claim she’d conjured her collapse was true, or perhaps she’d made a slight illness sound like a dire one. Oh, well. There was nothing any of us could do about Clarinda being Clarinda.
I made my way over to Brigid and waited while she sold a man a coil of thin wire and a sharpening stone. I scolded myself for not returning the egg container. The milk bottle, which I also owed the store, was still half full. I’d bring them both back tomorrow or before I left on Seventh Day.
“Hello, Brigid.” I spied a rack holding rounds of bread behind her and inhaled their alluring aroma. “Are those loaves freshly baked?”
“Yes, they are. A local lady makes them. She usually delivers them in the morning but she was delayed today.”
“I’d like one, please, and a wedge of cheddar cheese.” I decided on the spot to dine alone at home and the larder was pretty bare by now. “Does thee have cured ham, as well?”
“Of course. A quarter pound of each?”
“Please.” Ham, cheese, bread, and a sliced tomato would make a perfectly satisfactory supper, if a simple one. I never minded simple.
Brigid turned her back and busied herself cutting and wrapping my purchases. I glanced around but no one was nearby.
“I saw Hazel go out on a boat with another girl an hour or so ago,” I began in a low voice. “I think thee told me she was mad when Frannie started keeping company with Reuben Baxter. Does thee think her anger might have stemmed from jealousy?”
She faced me again, setting the paper-wrapped meat and cheese on the counter. “I know it did. Miss Bowman wanted Frannie to herself and that’s a fact.” She cast her eyes upward with a toss of her head. “I can’t fathom it myself, but I’m not after judging others. Live and let live, that’s the way to go.”
I smiled at her tolerance.
“Well, except for . . .” Her voice trailed off as she also surveyed the store. She leaned closer to me. “Except for Mr. Latting. He was in here trying to get a bit too friendly with me again, he was, trying to lure me out from behind the counter. I wasn’t having it, Mrs. Dodge.” She slapped the counter, her eyes ablaze. “No, I was not.”
“I’m glad thee has not fallen prey to his advances.” Speaking of making advances to girls, Currie’s faced flashed in my mind. “Was a man in here a little while ago posting handbills? I think thee mentioned thee had seen him before, the slick fellow who was also overly friendly to thee.”
“Oh, that gent. Yes, he was. He didn’t pay me any mind this time, for which I was glad. He posted his notice out by the door and hurried off as if a banshee was at his heels.”
“Did you ever see him with Frannie?”
“I don’t think so, even though she told me she’d been going down to Falmouth town.” She cocked her head and frowned. “Are you after thinking he killed the poor lass, then?”
“Not at all.” I prayed he hadn’t. “I’m simply assisting the detective on the case by asking a few questions here and there.” Not that it was a simple task by any means, and possibly not a safe one.
“I see.” She looked like she didn’t quite believe me. “No, I would remember if I’d seen the gent with Frannie.”
Gilbert Boyce bustled in from the back and looked from me to Brigid. “Afternoon, Mrs. Dodge. Has Brigid been finding you what you’re looking for?” His tone indicated he might have overheard us talking about much more than my supper makings.
“Yes, Gilbert.” I smiled to myself. In fact, she’d helped me find one piece of the puzzle. Maybe.