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  When we were able to breathe normally again, I said, “Duffy will think I’m the worst sort of person, laughing in here.”

  “Marcus, Duffy has been with more bereaved families than you can begin to imagine. He won’t judge you, and neither will I.”

  “You’ll just wonder why I didn’t figure out that good old Uncle Gilbert was no more real than Santa Claus. Good God.”

  “Not at all. Your aunt was a master at keeping secrets, and you were very young when she established the idea of his existence with you. Had she done so later, I think you would have questioned it. You can’t blame her for not knowing how best to handle such matters. As my father used to say, every infant is born into an experiment in child-rearing.”

  “She did a much better job of it than my parents did, Uncle Gilbert or no.”

  “I’m impressed with her ability to purchase such items for you.”

  “Like you, she could afford to hire discreet intermediaries. I shudder to think how many households in Jenksville and surrounding communities rely on you for additional income.”

  “Not enough to strain my coffers, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I have never had need of your coffers, as you damn well know.”

  She smiled. “One of your attractions, Marcus. You’ve never been after my money. Another is that you’ll swear in front of me.”

  “The feeling is mutual. On both counts.”

  I went back to work, somewhat mollified.

  Not many minutes later, I came across a note that made me wish it had been cold enough for a fire, for I would have burned it immediately.

  I believe Marcus has finally lost his virginity. This would make me happier if it made him happier.

  I can’t understand what has gone wrong.

  I know there was mutual regard and, on his part at least, deep affection, if not love.

  He can’t be worried about an unwanted pregnancy. Even if he failed to take the condoms with him, I know that Clorinda has read Mrs. Sanger’s “Family Limitation” pamphlet (illegal though it may be) and would be prepared.

  Did it not go well? Apparently not.

  I suppose even his own mother would not be able to discuss this with him, but how I wish I could. He seems so heartbroken.

  I, too, am fond of Clorinda, and could not resist having such hopes for their happiness. I know Clorinda is quite fierce—I admire her for it—but I have not previously suspected her of cruelty.

  “And I never suspected you of the same, Edith.”

  At that moment, if I could have locked myself in the secret room and never reemerged, I would have made a dash for it. Clorinda had been reading over my shoulder. I opened my mouth, then shut it again.

  “What were you going to say?” she asked.

  “I was going to apologize for her. But that’s not my place. And I do think, in the privacy of her own home, she was entitled to her own thoughts, however mistaken her opinions might have been. I’ve had a mistaken opinion or two myself.”

  There was a long silence; then I felt Clorinda’s arms come about me, and she gently pulled me back against her. I have never been able to figure out how one person could be both so firm and so soft in such perfect proportion.

  She rested her face between my shoulder blades, and I placed my hands over hers. It took me a while to realize she was crying. In five years of courting her, I had only seen Clorinda tear up three times. Once when I gave her the pocket watch. Once when she told me how much she missed her father. And when we had first made love. But she had never out-and-out cried.

  I turned around and held her. “Did her words hurt you, Clorinda? If so, I am so sorry—”

  “No, I’m just thinking of how much I’ve missed your—your Marcus-ness.”

  I held her even closer. “I was thinking something very similar about you a little earlier today.” This brought on more tears. When at last they abated, I found a handkerchief for her.

  “I had better lock this box away and close up the secret room,” I said. “I know I should probably hand the entire collection of notes over to the police and let them sort out who might have been insulted to the point of murder, but when I think of the potential harm…”

  “We need to think this through, but yes, for now, let’s straighten the room.”

  As we worked to restore order, I answered some additional questions from Clorinda about my interview with Detective Osburn.

  “What did he mean about your housekeeper’s broken arm?”

  “Mrs. McCray fell and landed badly on her arm, just out front. Osburn happened to be nearby, and helped her into the house. He assisted quite ably. Aunt Edith was grateful to him—I was with you that day, so I wasn’t here to help.”

  “Oh. That day?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was a damned fool,” she said.

  “So was I,” I said. “Something we had in common.” I closed the clock case, making sure only one key remained in the clock. The other I kept in my vest.

  I had no sooner done so than a knock sounded and we heard Duffy call through the door.

  “Pardon me, sir, but I stepped outside to have a smoke and noticed Osburn walking up the street, headed this way. He’s got a lady and a gent with him. Just thought you might not want to be found—well, in a position that might compromise Miss Ainsbury.”

  I opened the door. “Thank you, Duffy.”

  He nodded, looked past me at Clorinda, and seemed shocked.

  “Miss Ainsbury?”

  “It’s quite all right, Duffy. Contrary to popular opinion, I am capable of crying, swooning, screaming, and a multitude of other so-called feminine activities.”

  He grinned. “You’ll do, but you’d better get your beau to comb his hair. He looks a fright.” He winked. “Wouldn’t want any swooning.”

  As I quickly combed my hair, Clorinda called police headquarters and put in a request for Chief Irons’s presence.

  “Is that necessary?” I asked.

  “He can control Osburn better than anyone.”

  “We have Duffy—”

  “Duffy’s going to run an errand for me.”

  “Clorinda—”

  “A very quick errand. Trust me?”

  Her face was tearstained, and she is not one of those women who looks gorgeous after a bout of crying. In fact, what she looked was—dear to me. And a little more vulnerable than usual. “Yes, of course,” I said, causing her to reach for my handkerchief again as she ran out of the room to talk to Duffy.

  The two people with Osburn were Ulysses Dillon and Lizzy Conrad. Lizzy was handcuffed to the detective. She appeared to have been weeping, with no more beautifying results than those on Clorinda. Dillon looked extremely unhappy.

  “Well, Mr. Montague! I think we’ve solved the case,” Osburn said.

  “Is Ulysses going to accuse a hobo?”

  “A hobo!”

  “Never mind. Go on—I’m all ears.”

  At that moment, Clorinda came back into the room. Osburn scowled at her.

  “Detective Osburn,” she said sweetly.

  “You’ve been crying,” he said.

  “I’ve lost the woman I had hoped would be, in essence, my mother-in-law. Of course I’ve been crying.”

  Detective Osburn caught me looking surprised—I’m to acting what the Opera Society is to singing. “Clorinda, I thought we agreed—”

  “To let a decent period of mourning pass before announcing our news? Yes, of course. But none of these people will say anything to anyone, will they?” As she looked at each member of the stunned trio, she received pledges of secrecy.

  It would be all over town ten minutes after they left.

  “Clorinda,” I said, “you’ll be happy to know that Detective Osburn has solved the case.”

  She looked about. “Where’s the hobo?”

  Osburn was infuriated. “What hobo?”

  “Oh. Surely it wasn’t one of these people?”

  “I’m afrai
d so. Dillon?”

  “A few weeks ago, I saw Mrs. Conrad steal a bracelet from your aunt’s desk,” he mumbled.

  “And said nothing?” Clorinda asked, earning more dark looks from Osburn.

  “I felt sorry for her. Her husband’s a brute. If I hadn’t told him that two other ladies would ride with us to the Opera Society, and that being in it would put Lizzy in Miss Montague’s good graces, I don’t think he would have given permission for her to come with us to the meetings. As it was, I had to tell him that being in Miss Montague’s good graces would lead to fat contracts for him for building sets, or he never would have let her out of the house.”

  “She stole from your aunt,” Osburn said to me. “She’s done nothing but cry since I arrested her, but I’ll get the story out of her. It’s obvious—she slipped back here after the meeting last night to see what else she could steal, killed your aunt.”

  “And forgot to take anything but a box of receipts,” Clorinda said.

  “Dillon showed up unexpectedly, and that scared her off.”

  “Does she have powers of invisibility?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “How did she get past him?”

  “She went out the back, out to the alley, and away. Simple.”

  “But there has been a misunderstanding,” I said. “My aunt gave the bracelet to Lizzy.”

  Lizzy, who had stood with head bent, looked up at me.

  “I saw her take it from the desk,” Dillon said, on the defensive.

  “Of course you did. She did just as my aunt asked. Dear me, my aunt had hoped no one had noticed, because she feared the other two ladies in the society might expect similar gifts.”

  “Why not just give it to her some other time, then?” Osburn asked.

  “As Mr. Dillon has explained, Lizzy was unable to leave the house much. This would be the only opportunity to bestow a gift on her without her husband’s knowledge.”

  “Why in God’s name would your aunt give an expensive bracelet to a nobody like Lizzy Conrad?”

  “As I know from personal experience, my aunt didn’t believe any human being was a ‘nobody’—man, woman, or child. As for why, that was a delicate and private matter between the two of them, but let me just hint that my aunt had the welfare of Lizzy’s daughter in mind.”

  “Is this true, Lizzy?”

  Clorinda asked it before Osburn could, and she looked into Lizzy’s eyes in such a compelling way, I was unsurprised when Lizzy said, “Yes, yes it is.”

  Chief Irons arrived just in time to hear Clorinda say, “Unless you are accusing my fiancé and Mrs. Conrad of lying, Detective Osburn, perhaps you would be so good as to free Lizzy from those handcuffs?”

  With an uneasy glance at his uncle, Osburn said, “No, of course, if that was the way it was…” He freed Lizzy from the cuffs.

  Clorinda walked Lizzy to the door, interrupting Dillon’s profuse apologies to Lizzy by saying, “Mr. Dillon, I know Marcus has questions for you,” damn her fine eyes, and then telling Lizzy that she would hire her to work in a place where she would be safe from Mr. Conrad if she should decide to leave him.

  Dillon was looking at me expectantly, as were the chief and Osburn, when Duffy saved the day, or at least the moment, by arriving with Mrs. McCray. I smiled and said, “Mrs. McCray! Perfect timing. And Duffy!” I was about to continue in this inane fashion when I noticed that Duffy had donned gloves and was carefully carrying a black walnut box. Osburn noticed the box, too, and made a grab for it, but Duffy dodged the effort and stood out of Osburn’s reach.

  Clorinda came back just then. “Let’s all move to the study, shall we?”

  “Oh, please, miss,” Mrs. McCray said feebly. “The blood and all. I can’t bear it.”

  “Poor dear, then we’ll begin here. Tell us about the day you fell and broke your arm.”

  Mrs. McCray glanced at me. I smiled and nodded.

  “I was coming back from the market, and tripped on the sidewalk out front and fell and broke my arm….”

  As we stood together in the hallway, she told of Detective Osburn’s finding her and helping her up, and bringing her into the house.

  “And where did he take you in, the front or the back?”

  “The front, miss, and probably because I was screeching from the pain.”

  “And where was Miss Edith?”

  “In her study, working on her bills and such. She come runnin’ out, and was plumb distracted when she saw the bone stickin’ out and all. Well, I thought I’d faint myself, but I didn’t, did I? Then Mr. Osburn asks her to please get some clean towels and a bit of brandy for me, and when she goes off to do that, he asks me where’s the telephone, and I points to the study. And he goes in and calls Dr. Willis, and that seems to take forever—you know how it is when you’re in pain—and when he comes back out Miss Edith gives him the towels, and—forgive me, but he hardly seemed to know what to do. But luckily, the doc was not but the next street over and he was able to stop by and patch me up. Whooeee, that hurt like the devil, but all’s right now, isn’t it, Detective Osburn?”

  “I’m glad you are recovered,” he said mechanically. He was staring at the box in Duffy’s gloved hands.

  “Is this the missing box?” Chief Irons asked. “Where did you find it, Duffy?”

  “Behind the house, sir. In a patch of grass between the garage and the fence.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McCray,” I said. “You may go on back home now. I appreciate your coming over here on such short notice and during your time off.”

  She was disappointed, I could tell, but I didn’t want to have a bigger audience than necessary. Mrs. McCray spoke with me about my aunt, and how much she would be missed. I thanked her again and assured her that an arrest would be made before the end of the day.

  She left, clearly brimming with curiosity. We adjourned to the study.

  Chief Irons had grown quiet, as had we all.

  We did not keep Dillon for long, although he must have wondered what would take place after—in answer to Clorinda’s questions—he described how quickly Osburn had arrived after he had called for the police. Faster, he was sure, than Osburn could have arrived from the station. Clorinda thanked him, and he left.

  She then outlined events. She told Chief Irons that we had found notes among Miss Edith’s effects, notes that Detective Osburn had undoubtedly seen out on the desk the day Mrs. McCray broke her arm. Notes in Miss Edith’s own hand, usually hidden, locked away, and never intended to be seen by any eyes but her own.

  Clorinda paused, then said, “What I have to say next—perhaps you would prefer to have Officer Duffy wait in another room?”

  “Duffy,” the chief said, “you are now officially deaf.”

  “What’s that you say, Chief?”

  “Good man. Go on, Miss Ainsbury.”

  So she told him that one of those notes raised questions about the paternity of two of the Osburn brothers—the chief shook his head slowly as Clorinda recited it from memory:

  Stella Osburn’s second and third sons bear a striking resemblance to George Horvath’s boy. Am I the only one who sees it?

  “That’s a damned lie!” Osburn shouted.

  Chief Irons sighed. “Mort, I’ve long known that you two are George Horvath’s sons. You and Clarence both.”

  “But—but—”

  “My sister-in-law—your mother—is dead, and I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but facts are facts. Your older brother, Raymond, was the only real Osburn in the whole nest full of cuckoo’s eggs.”

  “But then—then I’m not your nephew!”

  Chief Irons sighed again. “Not by blood, no. Your mother and my wife were sisters, so you were never going to be my nephew except through marriage, and yet—”

  “But we were Osburns! And since Raymond died in France—”

  “You’re beginning to get the picture, Mort. You’ve lost both parents and a brother. I’ve lost my wife. So right now, when it co
mes to family, I have only two living nephews. You were raised by a man who loved you and turned a blind eye to his wife’s unfaithfulness. I have followed his lead. Up until now, anyway. You turned your back on the law, Mort. The law that I have worked my entire adult life to uphold. You killed Miss Edith, didn’t you? And you were going to blame poor Lizzy Conrad for it? Well, the Devil and his right-hand man Horvath can have the responsibility of you now, for all I care, but maybe something can be made of Clarence yet.”

  “I asked Officer Duffy to use gloves, sir,” Clorinda said. “I believe you’ll find Detective Osburn’s prints on the box. I suspect he knew—as did everyone in the police department—that Marcus would be dining with you last night, and therefore out of the house, unable to defend his aunt. Detective Osburn may not have known about the Opera Society, but it would be an easy thing to come into the house after they left. He killed her, and then looked for the box. Having Dillon return unexpectedly probably frightened him into grabbing the box and running out the back door with it. I suspect the murder weapon—perhaps his nightstick?—is either in the area where Duffy found the box, or perhaps by now is among the ashes in Detective Osburn’s fireplace.”

  “Well, Mort?” the chief asked. “If you want any help at all from me, you had better tell me where to find your nightstick.”

  “Somewhere out by the garage,” Osburn said miserably.

  Chief Irons ordered Duffy to handcuff him. Then he sighed and said to us, “If it’s all the same to you two, we’ll work out a story that won’t cause his brother Clarence any more shame and heartbreak than he’s already bound to suffer. There will be no mention of any note.”

  We agreed.

  Clorinda stayed with me that night, and asked me to marry her. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. She said she knew her timing was bad, and I told her it was perfect.

  Eventually we sorted through all the boxes. Aunt Edith had apparently been encouraged by her father to pen the notes from an early age. We immediately burned the worst of the notes, and used others as the basis of a book we wrote together, although we changed the names of those mentioned in them. Once the book was written, we kept only a few of the notes that were just about us, and consigned the rest to the fire.