I sighed. I hated to walk away from this case without ever knowing the truth. Was it a tragic death or a clever murder? And was the death of three friends within a week no more than an unhappy coincidence? The only person who could tell me the truth was Anson Poindexter. If I had been Daniel, I could have had him brought in and grilled him. It did briefly cross my mind that I could go and interview him on some harmless pretext and see if I could trap him into some kind of confession. Then I told myself not to be so stupid. If he was a clever murderer and had killed more than once, then I’d be signing my own death warrant. Maybe I already had . . . I shivered as I thought of that black carriage coming straight at me. Would he try again if I didn’t abandon this case?
I saw now why Daniel had said that criminal cases should be left to the police. They could ask questions of whomever they pleased. They could barge in, bully, intimidate, snoop around until they came to the truth. I could do none of the above. In fact if the hair samples revealed nothing, then I didn’t see what else I could do.
I wondered if Fanny had told anyone else what she had told me—that she was planning to divorce her husband if her suspicions of infidelity proved to be true. Did she ever suspect she was being poisoned when she fell ill? Her mother had apparently nursed her day and night during that last week. Might Fanny have confided anything to her? If I went to speak with Fanny’s mother would it do more harm than good? If I were Fanny’s mother, would I want to know that my child might have been poisoned when it was now too late to save her? Yes, I would, I decided, if there was any chance of bringing her poisoner to justice. I resolved to go and see Fanny’s mother in the morning, however unpleasant that encounter might prove to be.
“You’re not allowed to look pensive,” Ryan said, interrupting my thoughts. “In fact gloomy faces are simply not allowed on this boat. Gaiety and laughter, my dear. That’s what we want to see.” He held out his hand and jerked me to my feet. “Come and dance. Pierre is going to demonstrate his new phonograph.”
I arrived home very late and a little tipsy to find a note from Daniel stuffed through my letter box. “Picked up hair sample. Will take it into lab tomorrow. Interesting developments to tell you about but you weren’t home.”
Then, of course, I felt guilty that he had been working all day when I had been having such a good time.
Twenty-five
On Monday morning I really wanted to find Daniel and learn what the new developments were that he had written about. Had the sample of stomach mixture revealed some kind of poison? He would be working, of course. I was tempted to go to police headquarters on Mulberry Street, but I didn’t think he’d take kindly to this. Besides, he’d most likely be off somewhere on a case. I’d just have to wait patiently on that count.
In the meantime I had promised myself to speak with Mrs. Bradley. I was not looking forward to this, I can tell you. Again I questioned whether it was being foolish and wrong to tell a grieving mother that I suspected her daughter might have been poisoned. I decided to tread very carefully and have the sense to know when to shut up. It has never been one of my stronger traits. I realized as I set out that I didn’t know exactly where the Bradleys lived. Mrs. Bradley was hardly likely to be still camped out at her daughter’s apartment, was she? But I went to the Dakota anyway and rang the doorbell at the Poindexters’ apartment.
It was opened by none other than Anson, looking dashing in a maroon silk dressing gown.
“Hello,” he said with a pleasant smile. “May I help you?”
Oh, now this was tempting. Daring Molly Murphy solves case by seducing murderer into giving her a confession. He looked harmless enough.
“I was wondering if your mother-in-law was still in residence here,” I said.
“No, thank God,” he replied. “At last I can breathe again.” Then he pulled a boyish face. “Oh, dear. Not very tactful of me, was it. You’re not a bosom friend of hers, are you?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I was a friend of your dear departed wife’s.”
His face fell. “I see. Poor Fanny. Who would have thought it. She may have looked delicate but I always thought she was strong as an ox. It’s quite shaken me up, I can tell you. I haven’t felt like going to work ever since the funeral and I keep thinking I’m coming down with whatever that awful sickness was that took her away so quickly.”
“It was very sad for all of us,” I said. “You have my deepest sympathy.”
He nodded. “Thank you. She was a lovely girl, wasn’t she? So sweet-natured.” He paused to clear his throat.
“And I understand you were away during her last moments. That must have been an awful shock for you.” It was out before I could weigh the wisdom of it. But if he’d already tried to run me down once, then he obviously knew who I was. And if he hadn’t tried to run me down, then who on earth had?
“Yes, I was out of town on business,” he said. “I can’t tell you how badly I feel about that now, but when I left she really did seem to be on the mend.”
I tried desperately to think of other clever things to ask him, ways to bring Bella or Fifi into the conversation, but my brain refused to cooperate.
“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” I said. “Could you possibly give me the Bradleys’ address?” I tried to come up with a plausible reason for this. “I was asked to pass on condolences by an old friend of the family I met while sailing this weekend.”