One Nob Hill, Hopkins Mansion, San Francisco, March 6, 1884
One after the other, in the order of their age, all five of Clara’s children greeted her in his or her own way. Everyone in her family was there, including her parents, Telitha and Elias Shortridge. They were learning about the recent case and about the new home they would soon be moving into, thanks to the kind benevolence of Missus Mark Hopkins. “My big, gloomy mansion,” she said, “would otherwise be inhabited by ghosts.”
Seventeen-year-old Trella Evelyn came first, and she greeted her mother by giving her a gentle hug and a brief peck on the cheek She wore a new red dress, with decorative designs on the pockets and a big bonnet. No bustle yet, as grandma forbade it. “It’s so grand here, Mother. Will I have my own room?”
“Of course, my love. You’re a young woman now, and you deserve your privacy,” Clara told her, surprised by how tall she had grown in just a year.
Fifteen-year-old Samuel Cortland came next. He wore a frock coat and short pants, and he chose to shake his mother’s hand and smile a crooked grin. “Mother, did you plug that rat in the forehead or the temple?”
Clara frowned. “Sammy, never refer to a human being as an animal of any kind. I had to shoot this man because he could have blown-up most of Chinatown and us with it. It was a matter of life and death, and I really felt a bit sorry for him afterward. Insanity, I now believe, should be determined by a court of law. I was playing judge and executioner.”
“Don’t you be so hard on yourself, daughter,” Elias told her from his seated position on the huge antique living room divan. “You saved a lot of lives that day.” Her father’s long legs were crossed, and he was smoking a big cigar that Hannigan had given him. Elias wore his best attorney’s dark blue suit, with a pink carnation in the lapel of his frock coat. His face was ruddy, his head balding, and his thick mustache was waxy and broad when he smiled.
Missus Hopkins, seated to his right, was staring at Elias, reverently, as if he were her deceased husband, Mark. Telitha, Clara’s mother, was sitting next to the elderly woman, and she was quite amused by her. She wore a green satin gown that she had worn once to the opera with her husband.
Out on the Persian rug, it was thirteen-year-old Bertha May’s turn to greet Clara. She wore a yellow woolen dress with fur at her collars, and her face was streaming tears as she hugged Clara tightly. “Oh, Mama! It’s been so horrible without you. Samuel tortures me every day, and I can’t find any new friends. My face looks like the craters of the moon.”
“My Bertha. This too shall pass. Go sit beside Ah Toy. She will keep you company.” Clara pointed to her friend, who was seated on a smaller couch near the fireplace, which was blazing with flames erupting from large winter logs.
Twelve-year-old David Milton chose to race at his mother from a standing start. At the very last moment, however, he skidded to a stop, and grinned up at her. “What did you get me?” he asked, holding out his arms. His Lord Fauntleroy short pants and jacket, with matching sailor hat gave him a dynamic aplomb.
“I got you a ride on a gray horse called Ghost Lady!” Clara said.
“Yippee!” David screeched, and he ran off to sit beside Bertha and whisper something in her ear.
Finally, little seven-year-old Virginia Knox skipped over to see her mother. Her blue dress with seven petticoats was quite lovely, and her little round hat had a small blue peacock feather. Virginia stood in front of her mother and stared up at her for several moments, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was she. “Are you afraid of wolves?” she finally asked, her hazel eyes big and round.
“I would suppose so! They can hunt in packs,” Clara said.
“Will you shoot them for me?” Virginia asked.
“Naturally! And if I don’t get them, then my friend Captain Lees will,” she added, as she observed that Isaiah had just walked into the room along with his partner, Detective Eduard Vanderheiden. They were both wearing their usual suits, and Lees’ trademark gray cape was covering his frock coat.
“I think your mother here is a much better shot, however,” Captain Lees pointed out. “By the way, Missus Foltz, I was meaning to ask. How did you determine that the Minister of the Tin How Temple was the killer of those eight women?”
“I never thought you would ask, Sherlock,” Clara walked over and gave Isaiah a close hug and a kiss on the lips. She wanted to show her family just how fond she was of this new man in her life. “When you were showing me how to question suspects, I was taking notes, like a good sleuth. I happened to see that in the photos of all the victims, each woman had the same decoration in her hair.”
“Decoration?” Lees pulled a red comb from the back of Clara’s tresses and held it out for all to see. “You mean, like this?”
“Do I need to decorate this room again?” Missus Hopkins pointed to the lamp beside the divan. “I just purchased that lamp from Tiffany!”
Everyone laughed.
Clara continued, “Yes, except these were the same decorations left in all of the victims’ coiffures. As a matter of fact, I also spotted those same decorations inside Goddess Mazu’s shrine. They were in the trays, which were given as gifts to worshippers who lit prayer lanterns to the goddess. After I had that information, I deduced that Minister Guan Shi Yin must have placed them there after he flayed his victims. It was a sort of gruesome calling card, if you will.”
“The silver seahorse combs!” Dutch Vanderheiden remembered. “Sure, boss, why didn’t we see those?”
“After Cook arrested our boy George Kwong, I suppose we got distracted. Thank goodness Clara was alert to that which we had passed over.” Captain Lees took the red comb from Clara and placed it gently back into her auburn swirl.
“And how did you determine that the minister was working alone. We thought all along that the mayor might be in cahoots with the bee lady at the Home for Wayward Women.” Lees was bringing out all of the questions he had.
“Elementary, dear Holmes. Although Mayor Bartlett had a lot to gain from using the arrest of George Kwong to win the governorship, he had too much at risk and no motive to be part of the murder plot. He dined at the Chinese restaurant, and he worshipped at the altar of Leland Stanford, who was ambiguous about the value of Chinese labor, at the very least. When I learned that the hearer of all suffering once worked in Oakland as a burial specialist, I decided he had the skills necessary to be able to do the expert flaying of our victims. All of the Chinese deceased also had to be flayed before they were shipped back to China for family burials.”
Clara saw Andrew and his son, George, come into the room, and she waved at them. “I also knew George Kwong could have never killed any of those women because he was truly in love with Mary McCarthy.”
“Now how could you be certain of something as ephemeral as love?” Clara’s mother, Telitha, asked.
“He quit his newspaper job after she broke it off with him while she was in the Home for Wayward Women. He did the summer work in Oakland for that lying coroner,” Clara explained. “Of course, he did take all the photos of the victims. I think he was emotionally numb by then, and his journalistic work made him immune to their deaths. When his Mary was murdered, I believe he was truly traumatized beyond emotion. Therefore, he became a prime suspect in Sheriff Connolly’s eyes.”
“Well done!” Lees clapped. “I knew you were a good student, even though you never graduated from Hastings.”
“We women have to make a living these days. Especially if we have to watch out for you men,” Ah Toy said, grinning. “Ancient Chinese custom. Get feet twisted to walk daintily for your man. Then he can track you down more easily!”
“I don’t want to track anybody down for quite some time,” Clara said, opening her arms wide. “Come to me, my glorious family! I want to hold you all in my arms at once, to infuse my soul with your strength. You have done so much to give me inspiration, even though you were far away from me.”
All of the Shortridge clan got up and moved to the center of the room to become enveloped in the arms of their mother and daughter. Andrew Kwong, in response, hugged his son, George, and Missus Hopkins took Ah Toy into her arms.
Captain Lees and Detective Vanderheiden each wrapped an arm around the other’s shoulder and grinned broadly.
David Milton was the first to break away from the group. He ran to the door and stood there, his eyes glowing, and his body shaking with excitement. “I want to ride the Ghost Lady!” he said, bringing his two hands together in front of his chest, and moving them in a rolling motion, as if he were taking off into the sky.