She shook her head violently. “On the surface she acted as if all was well with their marriage, but beneath she was deeply unhappy. She didn’t talk about it much, but I could tell. He was a bully and a domineering tyrant.”
“Emily, however black his character was, he could hardly have given her influenza, could he?”
“I don’t doubt the influenza,” she said, “but when I saw her earlier in the week, she wasn’t that ill. As I said, she was always a baby about sickness. Even the smallest cold or splinter in her finger was cause for great drama. I think he took advantage of her weakened state to finish her off. Stomach complaints aren’t a usual part of influenza, are they? And yet she requested our stomach mixture. I’m wondering if he wasn’t feeding her something like arsenic.”
“That’s a serious charge,” I said, “And I don’t know how you’d prove it.” As I spoke, an awful thought crept into my mind. I had left her a note. I had tried to make it as general as possible, but perhaps a clever man could have put two and two together.
“That’s why I came to you,” she said. “I’m only a friend, and Anson never liked me. I was too clever and too independent for him, you see. I tried to persuade Fanny not to marry him when we were roommates at Vassar. But you are a detective. You know how to set about these things. Will you not try to find out the truth? I won’t rest until I know for sure.”
“Emily, this would be a criminal case. A matter for the police. I shouldn’t be meddling in it.”
“But you know what the police would say, don’t you? Female hysteria.” She sounded almost hysterical herself now. “They’d say it was influenza and I was imagining things.”
I thought this was all too probable.
“Listen,” I said. “My young man is a senior police detective. I’ll mention the matter to him and he’ll know what to do.”
“Thank you, that would be helpful,” she said, “but I’m wondering—if there was any kind of foul play, shouldn’t we take a look for ourselves before he has a chance to get rid of the evidence?”
I thought privately that any clever murderer would probably have destroyed the evidence instantly, but Emily went on. “I want to go over there right now to pay my last respects. Won’t you come with me? You’d know what to look for.”
“Emily, I should warn you that I know nothing about arsenic or any other kind of poisoning, but I’ll be happy to come with you. I’d like to pay my last respects too.”
I poured her a cup of tea while I went upstairs to find my one black dress.
The maid who opened the door to us at the Poindexter home looked as if she had been crying.
“Oh, miss. Oh, miss,” was all she could manage.
“We came to offer our condolences,” Emily said, “and to say a last farewell to dear Fanny.”
She nodded and let us into the hall. We waited while we heard voices in the drawing room and presently Anson Poindexter himself came out. He looked haggard and disheveled, as if he hadn’t slept all night, and was still wearing a maroon silk robe.
“Ah, Miss Boswell,” he said, extending his hand to her. “How good of you to come. You must excuse my appearance. I’m finding it hard to function.”
“This is Miss Murphy, another of Fanny’s friends,” Emily said.
I saw a flicker of interest or suspicion cross his face. “Miss Murphy? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance before.” He held out his hand to me in civil enough fashion. “Are you another of the fearsome Vassar ladies?”
“No, sir. My acquaintance with your wife is fairly recent.”
“I brought her to one of Fanny’s at homes,” Emily said. “They hit it off really well.”
“I’m so glad,” he said. “She had some wonderful, true friends. She was well loved, wouldn’t you say?”
“Very well loved,” Emily said.
“Her parents are here.” Anson Poindexter looked back at the drawing room door. “They are absolutely devastated, as you can imagine. Fanny was the light of their lives. Their adored only child.” He paused and cleared his throat. “As she was the light of my life, of course.”
“We were with her only last Sunday,” I said. “And she seemed so bright and healthy then. The disease took its toll so quickly.”
He nodded. “The doctor said he’d seen so many cases this year in which a simple influenza turned to pneumonia overnight.”
“That’s what she died of then, was it?” Emily asked. “Pneumonia?”
“That’s what’s on the death certificate,” he said. “It was her lungs, in any case.”
“Not her stomach?” Emily asked.
“Her stomach?” He looked surprised.
“She sent a note to my pharmacy requesting her favorite stomach mixture on Tuesday.”
“Did she? Well, I suppose there was some vomiting, but I put that down to the high fever. No, I’m sure it was pneumonia.”