and I happened upon an article on her bed stand that she had scribbled on. Of course, I never looked closely at it, knowing how she was about keeping things a secret.”
“Of course not. What was the article about?”
“A doctor.”
“Do you remember the doctor’s name?”
“No.”
“What about the doctor?”
“Some woman, Lady Somebody, had died.”
“He killed her?”
“No … I don’t know. I have to go back in.”
“Wait. Please think. Do you remember anything about the doctor?”
She bit her lip. “He’s … he’s a health doctor. He makes people healthier. He was treating the woman with something that wasn’t real medicine and she died. I’ve gotta go.”
“Here.”
I take her hand and put the brooch in it. Her jaw drops.
“This is expensive … I can’t…”
“Yes, now go run before Mrs. Franklin catches you.”
I, too, hurry away, taking a good deep breath, relieved to have gotten away from that terrible woman. I would not have been so kind and gentle to her if I didn’t know that she would have taken my tongue lashing out on her poor servant girl.
I take the diary out of my pocket and stick it in my purse. Once I find a café, I will stop and read the diary over tea and biscuits.
My heart pounds … I have Hailey’s diary, now I will be able to get answers.
The restraint of not plopping myself down and reading her diary is driving me nuts, but I can’t chance the evil Queen of Hearts watching me from an upper floor window to see if I had stolen anything.
Which I had, of course.
12
Archer watches from a hundred feet away as Nellie Bly comes out of the boardinghouse. He picks up his step to stay close enough behind her to make a quick move if he has to. He doesn’t want to bring attention to himself or risk getting his legs chopped off again if she boards a trolley.
He gets a jolt as the Bly woman pulls a red book out of her pocket and slips it into her purse without looking at it.
The diary .
It had to be the diary. It had that look and color. But the furtive way she slipped it into her purse was the tip-off that makes him certain she hadn’t gotten the book with the landlady’s permission.
How did she get her hands on it?
He had bluffed his way into the McGuire woman’s room yesterday by showing his old police badge. Once inside, he did a thorough search of the room. He knew from over a dozen years as a copper that women are much more clever than men when it comes to hiding evidence. But leave it up to a woman to find another woman’s hiding place.
He should have torn the place completely apart. Even without the police badge, the old bitch that runs the boardinghouse would have sold him anything he had wanted from the room for a quid.
The Bly woman turns the opposite direction from the trolley stop as she comes up to the corner.
She’s anxious to take a peek in the book. Going for hot tea and a warm place to read it. Good. That means she hadn’t had time to read it. And she wouldn’t get her nose between the pages, either. Not on his watch. He has to get it before she reads it. That was made very clear to him if he wants to get paid very well.
Getting this job had been a fluke, saving him from the final slip into the gutter that he’d been sliding toward since he had been dismissed from the force for taking bribes from a bookmaker to supplement that lousy salary they pay junior detectives.
It wasn’t his fault. He had had a wife who liked luxuries. That’s how he kept getting in deeper, first for what she wanted to wear and eat and then she even demanded he wore expensive suits. “I ain’t being seen with a man dressed like a street cop,” is what she told him. So, he did the only thing he could, he went on the take, looked the other way for a tidy sum from the bookmaker who handled bets on the races and sports. As his wife’s demands got bigger and his tastes got more refined, he started shaking down some of the criminals he’d
“Of course not. What was the article about?”
“A doctor.”
“Do you remember the doctor’s name?”
“No.”
“What about the doctor?”
“Some woman, Lady Somebody, had died.”
“He killed her?”
“No … I don’t know. I have to go back in.”
“Wait. Please think. Do you remember anything about the doctor?”
She bit her lip. “He’s … he’s a health doctor. He makes people healthier. He was treating the woman with something that wasn’t real medicine and she died. I’ve gotta go.”
“Here.”
I take her hand and put the brooch in it. Her jaw drops.
“This is expensive … I can’t…”
“Yes, now go run before Mrs. Franklin catches you.”
I, too, hurry away, taking a good deep breath, relieved to have gotten away from that terrible woman. I would not have been so kind and gentle to her if I didn’t know that she would have taken my tongue lashing out on her poor servant girl.
I take the diary out of my pocket and stick it in my purse. Once I find a café, I will stop and read the diary over tea and biscuits.
My heart pounds … I have Hailey’s diary, now I will be able to get answers.
The restraint of not plopping myself down and reading her diary is driving me nuts, but I can’t chance the evil Queen of Hearts watching me from an upper floor window to see if I had stolen anything.
Which I had, of course.
12
Archer watches from a hundred feet away as Nellie Bly comes out of the boardinghouse. He picks up his step to stay close enough behind her to make a quick move if he has to. He doesn’t want to bring attention to himself or risk getting his legs chopped off again if she boards a trolley.
He gets a jolt as the Bly woman pulls a red book out of her pocket and slips it into her purse without looking at it.
The diary .
It had to be the diary. It had that look and color. But the furtive way she slipped it into her purse was the tip-off that makes him certain she hadn’t gotten the book with the landlady’s permission.
How did she get her hands on it?
He had bluffed his way into the McGuire woman’s room yesterday by showing his old police badge. Once inside, he did a thorough search of the room. He knew from over a dozen years as a copper that women are much more clever than men when it comes to hiding evidence. But leave it up to a woman to find another woman’s hiding place.
He should have torn the place completely apart. Even without the police badge, the old bitch that runs the boardinghouse would have sold him anything he had wanted from the room for a quid.
The Bly woman turns the opposite direction from the trolley stop as she comes up to the corner.
She’s anxious to take a peek in the book. Going for hot tea and a warm place to read it. Good. That means she hadn’t had time to read it. And she wouldn’t get her nose between the pages, either. Not on his watch. He has to get it before she reads it. That was made very clear to him if he wants to get paid very well.
Getting this job had been a fluke, saving him from the final slip into the gutter that he’d been sliding toward since he had been dismissed from the force for taking bribes from a bookmaker to supplement that lousy salary they pay junior detectives.
It wasn’t his fault. He had had a wife who liked luxuries. That’s how he kept getting in deeper, first for what she wanted to wear and eat and then she even demanded he wore expensive suits. “I ain’t being seen with a man dressed like a street cop,” is what she told him. So, he did the only thing he could, he went on the take, looked the other way for a tidy sum from the bookmaker who handled bets on the races and sports. As his wife’s demands got bigger and his tastes got more refined, he started shaking down some of the criminals he’d
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