Murder on Washington Square by Victoria Thompson

herself.”
    “She was here when I came,” Catherine said, not really answering the implied question.
    “Didn’t you two know each other before?” Mary asked and was silenced by another dark look from Catherine.
    Yes, Sarah really would have to come back when the maid was alone. “I certainly hope this tragedy won’t frighten your friends away, Miss Porter,” Sarah tried.
    As she had hoped, this got a rise out of her. “What do you mean by that?”
    Sarah shrugged. “I simply meant that people who normally call here might be concerned about the notoriety. The newspapers haven’t been kind to poor Mr. Ellsworth. Few people would want to risk being associated with a scandal like this.”
    “Oh, Miss Porter’s gentlemen would never—” Mary began, but Catherine cut her off with a murderous glare. How interesting. Miss Porter had numerous callers, too.
    “They’ve put Mr. Ellsworth in jail now,” Catherine said. “We won’t be hearing anything more about it.”
    “Oh, Mr. Ellsworth wasn’t arrested,” Sarah corrected her. “He was allowed to go home last night. The police don’t believe he’s guilty.” This wasn’t exactly a lie. Malloy, at least, didn’t think he was guilty.
    “Why wouldn’t they?” Catherine asked in dismay. “Who else could’ve done it?”
    “Anyone,” Sarah pointed out. “At that time of night, she might have been murdered just for the few coins in her purse.”
    “But she didn’t even have her purse with her,” Mary supplied helpfully. “It’s still up in her room.”
    “Mary,” Catherine snapped. “Don’t you have work to do upstairs?”
    “I ain’t going up there until that policeman leaves,” Mary said. “I don’t want him putting me in jail!”
    “Oh, Mary, at least act like you’ve got good sense!” Catherine said in exasperation.
    “I can’t be nothing else but what I am,” Mary replied huffily. “I ain’t no stage actress like you.”
    Furious, Catherine made as if to rise from her chair, and Sarah didn’t want to see where that might lead. “Are you an actress?” she asked quickly, drawing Catherine’s attention from the poor maid. “Would I have seen you in anything?”
    As Sarah had hoped, she sank back down into her chair. “I did a little musical theater,” she admitted reluctantly, still glaring at Mary, daring her to say another word. “But that was a long time ago.”
    When she was truly the young girl she pretended to be, Sarah thought, but she said, “How exciting. I always thought it would be fun to be in the theater.”
    “It isn’t,” Catherine said. Sarah thought she detected bitterness in the words.
    She wanted to pursue this topic, but footsteps in the hallway distracted them, and then Mr. Walcott appeared in the doorway.
    “Mrs. Brandt,” he said, taking in the scene with disapproval. “I was afraid you’d gotten lost.”
    “Not at all. I was just telling Miss Porter how sorry I am about her friend.”
    Mr. Walcott exchanged a glance with Catherine, but Sarah couldn’t decipher the silent message that passed between them. “That detective was asking after you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said. “I believe he wanted to escort you home.”
    Sarah knew perfectly well Malloy had no such intention, but they did need to compare notes. She would have liked to stay and question the women some more, but she’d have to come back when they weren’t together if she hoped to get any more information.
    “Thank you for the tea,” Sarah said to Mary, then turned to Catherine. “Please let me know if I can do anything for you.” She pulled out her card and laid it on the table. Catherine Porter didn’t even glance at it. She was too busy watching Mr. Walcott.
    “After you, Mrs. Brandt,” Walcott said, with a flourish that was an oddly effeminate gesture. The eyes that glared at her were hardly effeminate, though. She’d seen that expression before and knew better than to waste her time resisting. Mr. Walcott wanted her out