MURDER AT DORCHESTER

Utterly Addictive Historical Cozy Mystery

ANDREA KRESS

© ANDREA KRESS 2024

Chapter 1

With a flourish, Brendan Halloran sprang open the legs of a card table in the living room of his parents’ house, moved four dining room chairs into place and set the box on top. His fiancée, Amanda, suppressed a laugh as he removed the top and spilled the contents of the puzzle onto the tabletop to the excited faces of his younger brother and sister.

“Let the games begin!” he declared while the four of them positioned themselves in cardinal directions and began to turn over the pieces.

“Straight edges first,” Sean, the young teen, said, moving several of those pieces toward the outer edge of the card table.

“This looks really hard,” said Angela, several years younger.

“With four of us working as a team, it’ll be a cinch,” Sean said. He took the box top with the photo of Faneuil Hall illuminated by a sunset and put it on an adjacent end table for reference.

While the foursome flipped and sorted the pieces, Mr. Halloran sat on the couch and observed the action to the clicking of his wife’s knitting needles as she worked beside him.

“What’s that?”

“A vest for Patrick. You know very well that, to save money, they’re keeping the rectory heat down. It’s bad enough that he’s so thin. Now they’re trying to turn him into an icicle.”

Her husband chuckled. “The meal you had him consume when he was here should last him a few days.”

She tutted. “And having to dash off like that. As the newest priest there, I think the others take advantage and put him on duty more than his fair share. Sometimes I think that we shouldn’t have encouraged him to take that path in life.”

“You know very well he had his heart set on it and, when you get the calling, you can’t ignore it.”

“Why do these boys have to choose such taxing professions? One son a priest, the other a policeman. The next thing you know, Sean will want to be a fireman.”

“I do,” the young boy piped up, not taking his eyes off the puzzle pieces before him. “Just like Uncle Joe.”

“There, you see!” his mother said accusingly to her husband.

Brendan was familiar with her complaint, and he changed the subject by asking his fiancée, “Amanda, what is the status of Valerie’s wedding?”

“What started off as smooth sailing has encountered slightly rough waters. She initially thought that a small affair would be easier to handle than something grandiose, and now she’s hearing that a few of the extended family are feeling snubbed.”

“Unless they elope, a small wedding can be just as much trouble to organize as a big one,” Mrs. Halloran observed. “What does her mother think of all that?”

“Since her parents are paying for the wedding, as is traditional, and she is their only daughter, I believe her mother wanted to pull out all the stops. After all, it only happens once,” Amanda said.

“Usually,” Brendan muttered, receiving a small kick under the table for his candor.

“If they’re paying, why the insistence on a small affair?”

Amanda and Brendan exchanged glances before looking back down at the sorting process. Their visual exchange did not go unnoticed.

“Well, what is it?” Mrs. Halloran asked.

Brendan turned and tried to mime something.

“What?” she said, looking up over her reading glasses.

He mouthed the word ‘convict.’

“Convert? To what religion?” his mother asked.

“I think he meant convict, Ma,” Sean said without looking up.

“What? Your friend is marrying a convict? And you’re in the wedding party?”

“No, no. I’m not in the wedding party. And we’re talking about another sibling of the groom who was…”

“Convicted of murder.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Who are these people? You can’t associate with such folks!” Mrs. Halloran said. Even her husband, usually unflappable, had his eyes wide open. The two younger children had stopped what they were doing in anticipation of what would happen next.

“Don’t make us leave. We want to hear the rest,” Sean said.

“Nobody is going to hear the rest,” Brendan said.

“It was a very sad family situation that my cousin, Aggie, witnessed,” Amanda said, trying to take the drama out of the admission by looking solemn.

She continued turning over the puzzle pieces as the others looked at her, waiting for more of an explanation that she was determined not to pursue in front of the children.

After a pause, Mrs. Halloran asked, “How is your new dog, Cromwell?”

“Unfortunate name for an Irish Setter,” Mr. Halloran said under his breath.

“He’s lovely. And he’s being utterly spoiled by everyone. I suspect the cook is slipping him leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Why are they called Irish Setters?” Angela asked.

“Because they have red hair, just like Sean,” Brendan said. “And they’re setters because when they see a bird or whatever is being hunted, they don’t chase it. They become very still and even the sound of gunshots doesn’t faze them.”

“Who hunts birds anyway?” Angela asked.

“People with a lot of money and nothing better to do, I suppose,” Mrs. Halloran said.

“It’s a big thing in England, where wealthy people have large estates with lots of land. They have shooting parties.”

“That’s terrible!” Angela said.

“Well, they do eat them. Kind of like us eating chicken or turkey. Except those they hunt are wild birds like grouse and such.”

“I still think it’s terrible,” Angela said.

“Next time we have chicken, you can give me yours,” Sean said, receiving a glare in return.

The telephone rang and Mr. Halloran put his hand on his wife’s arm and got up to answer it in the hallway to the kitchen. He returned a few moments later and said to Brendan, “It’s for you. It’s Patrick.”

Brendan left the room, a puzzled look on his face, and everyone stopped what they were doing to await his return. He came back shortly and said, “He needs my assistance.”

“I’m coming with you,” Amanda said and, once in their coats, they made their way to his car parked in front of the house.

“He was called to administer extreme unction.”

“What’s that?”

“Last rites. It involves prayer and anointing with sacred oil. But he seems to have been too late and he said the house was deserted.” Brendan opened the passenger door for her, and they quickly sped away.

“I told him to stay put and gave him the telephone number of the police station. He seemed rattled. Unusual for him.”

“Where to?”

“Savin Hill in Dorchester.”

Chapter 2

They didn’t speak for the entire journey, each absorbed in imagining what they might encounter. When they arrived at the address, they could see Patrick standing at the open front door, his forehead furrowed in worry. Brendan dashed up and put his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

“Show me,” he said, and the two men went so quickly into the house that Amanda struggled to keep up.

“Where is everyone?” she asked as they mounted the stairs.

“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “The front door was ajar when I arrived and I called out, but no one answered. I had been to see Mr. Bauer before and decided to go upstairs without trying to find anyone, since it seemed to be an emergency. When I got there, he had already passed on.”

They stood outside the bedroom and Patrick approached the bed again. “I stepped on this when I came in,” he said, holding up a broken glass hypodermic needle that was on the nightstand.

Brendan exhaled in frustration. “You shouldn’t have handled that.”

“I’m sorry. I was so flustered, I wasn’t thinking.”

Brendan bent his fingertips to the neck of the prone man in the bed for a few moments to confirm the death before straightening up.

“Had he been ill long?”

“Yes, for weeks. He seemed increasingly agitated each time I saw him, and he was anxious to make his confession, although he was always rather vague about things.”

“What do you mean?” Amanda asked, not being Catholic and uncertain about the rites and rituals.

“Of course, I can’t reveal our conversations due to the sanctity of confession, but sometimes people start off being elusive and only upon further questioning do they get more specific. Whatever was troubling him was something he wasn’t yet ready to say. It was about some decision that he had made and was reconsidering.”

“That’s very sad,” Amanda said.

“Was he lucid?”

“Oh, yes. Mr. Bauer was in full use of his mental faculties. But something was troubling him, and I’m sorry I couldn’t alleviate his distress. I administered the last rites after I called you.”

Suddenly, there were noises coming from the first floor, people speaking in urgent voices and scolding before someone called out.

“Who’s here?”

Footsteps of more than one person were heard ascending the stairs and two women burst into the bedroom, one of them putting her hands over her mouth, crying out, then dashing to the bed and patting Mr. Bauer’s lifeless hand.

“I’m sorry, he’s gone,” Patrick said.

She bent over the body and wept.

The second woman, clearly a nurse by her white uniform and cap, recognized Patrick but looked puzzled at Brendan and Amanda’s presence.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Sergeant Halloran. I was called to the scene.”

“Wait—aren’t you Father Halloran?” she asked Patrick.

“Yes. We’re brothers.”

She still seemed confused and put her eyes on Amanda.

“Amanda Burnside,” she said, holding out her hand in greeting but receiving only a stare in return.

“Why was he left alone in the house?” Brendan asked.

“That silly girl let the cat out of the house, and somehow we all got pulled into the chase for the little devil. Did you ring the doorbell? I thought the cook and the maid were in the house.” She bustled past Patrick and picked up Mr. Bauer’s hand to check for a pulse.

“I did,” Patrick said. “Nobody answered and the door was ajar.”

“That’s impossible,” said a young woman from the doorway. “Stay out,” she shouted to a little girl who stood behind her with a tabby cat in her arms.

The girl began to cry. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The doorbell rang and the nurse glared at the men in the room and said, “I suppose I’ll have to get it.”

Amanda backed into a corner to keep out of the chaos as she heard a loud conversation from the foyer that made its way up the staircase.

Clyde Owens, the Chicago detective who had been loaned to the Boston Police Department, stomped into the already crowded room and scanned the faces.

“Oh. You’re here already,” he said to Brendan. A heavy man, he breathed heavily from the exertion of climbing the stairs.

“Where’s Barone?”

“His day off. I thought it was your day off, too.”

“Yes, my brother called me, and I asked him to notify the station.”

Clyde looked at Patrick and said, “The father is your brother?”

Brendan nodded.

“Is that a joke or a coincidence?” Clyde said with a smirk.

“I beg your pardon,” Patrick said.

“What’s exactly is going on here?” Clyde said.

“Obviously the poor man has died,” Brendan said. “Father Halloran was here to give extreme unction, but the patient had already passed away.”

Clyde had an annoyed look on his face as he noticed the crushed hypodermic on the bedside table. Looking at the woman behind him, he said, “Can you do something about the wife?”

“It’s his sister, Miss Bauer,” the nurse said. “Come along. Let’s go to your bedroom while the police have a look around.”

“The police? Who called the police?” the sister asked.

“Auntie, come away,” the young woman in the doorway said as she and the nurse each took one of Miss Bauer’s arms and escorted her out of the room.

“Where did this come from?” Clyde asked, looking at the hypodermic more closely without touching it.

“It was on the floor next to the bed. I didn’t see it and stepped on it by mistake,” Patrick said.

“A likely story,” was the response.

“Listen here,” Brendan said. “He arrived at the behest of the family, and when he got here, no one was in the house. We don’t know why the needle was on the ground—perhaps the deceased knocked it onto the ground.”

“We’ll have to test it to see what was in it,” Clyde said, picking it up with a handkerchief to avoid contamination.

The nurse returned to the room and observed the scene. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

“It was on the rug, next to the bed,” Patrick said.

“Was Mr. Bauer under your care?” Clyde asked.

“Of course he was. He had great pain and regular injections for it. But he hadn’t had one in several hours. And I would never be so careless as to leave a full hypodermic on the bedside table nor drop a used needle on the floor.”

“Morphine, eh?”

The nurse said nothing.

More footsteps were heard in the hall and two women, the cook and the maid by the looks of their clothing, along with a man all peered through the open door.

“Mein Gott!” the cook said as the maid hovered behind her.

“Anyone else want to come in and contaminate the scene?” Clyde said.

“The scene! What do you mean?” the nurse asked. “The man was terminally ill!”

“He might have been, but someone could have taken advantage of that to kill him,” Clyde persisted.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you jumping to conclusions?” Brendan asked.

“And aren’t you jumping to protect your brother, the Father?”

Brendan had heard enough. He stepped forward and socked Clyde solidly in the face.

Blood spurted from the big man’s nose, and he was too astonished to do anything but try to stanch it with his shirtsleeve.

“Let’s go,” Brendan said and stormed out of the room, with Amanda trailing behind, followed by Patrick.

When they exited the front door, Brendan stopped for a moment and, either by way of apology or explanation, said, “That was an extremely stupid, rash thing I did. I’m going to catch hell for it, but I have to say, it was worth it.”

They drove to her house in silence. After being dropped off, Amanda walked slowly to the front door, her brow furrowed. Her scowl was still in place when she reached the sitting room.

“Trouble?” her father asked, putting the Sunday paper aside. Cromwell wagged his tail and walked over to get his head petted.

“Brendan got called out to a lavish house in Savin Hill where a Mr. Bauer had just died. His brother Patrick was there and, well, things got heated.”

“I know the man’s name, but I never met him. He has quite a mystique about him.”

Amanda sat down beside her father on the sofa. “How so?”

“Rumor has it that somehow he sniffed out the coming stock market crash and put all his money in gold. Therefore, he emerged financially unscathed.”

“He seems to have lived well, supporting several relatives, including a sister, a young woman, a little girl and a number of staff. Where does one keep a large amount of gold? In a chest under the bed? Buried in the back garden?”

Her father chuckled. “If the rumor is true, there must be a lot of it. And it’s very heavy. It could be in various safety deposit boxes around town or in a rented vault somewhere.”

“Gosh! For the family’s sake, I certainly hope they know where he stashed it.”

“I’m sure he told a trusted advisor or his attorney.” Mr. Burnside looked at his daughter. “Let’s just say he’d be a darned fool if he were the only person who knew.”

Chapter 3

Brendan discovered that the release of anger and frustration on Clyde Owens’ face had not been worth it when he was called into the Chief’s office the first thing Monday morning.

“Well, well,” the Chief said, giving Brendan the once over. “So, you got him with a roundhouse punch as I hear it.” The Chief rocked back in his chair behind the opulent desk, twiddling a pencil between his fingers while observing the Sergeant’s discomfort. Brendan had not been offered a seat but had to stand in front of the Chief’s desk as if he had been called to the Principal’s office.

“I have apologized to Mr. Owens just now, sir, and I offer my apology to you, as well.” He hoped he wouldn’t be caught out in his first statement.

The Chief shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Brawling. And in front of members of the family of a deceased man who lay there in the room. His family beside themselves with grief. And your fiancée there as well.” He shook his head again. “What came over you?”

Brendan knew exactly who had filled him in on the details of who was present. “I’m sorry, Chief, but that man has been intolerable since he arrived. He thinks he knows everything. He has no finesse in dealing with possible witnesses—if, indeed, there was a crime—and…”

“Finesse? A punch in the nose is using finesse, is it?”

Brendan had no response.

“It may have occurred to you that him ‘being on loan’ from the Chicago Police Department was a way for them to get him out of their hair since they couldn’t find a suitable infraction to fire him. And why I agreed to it is a matter that I won’t be discussing. I was told he has excellent forensic skills, and we’ll take advantage of that since Chicago is also covering his salary.”

Great, Brendan thought. We’ll be stuck with him forever.

“I didn’t appreciate his insinuations about my brother, Father Halloran, who had come there on a mission of mercy to administer extreme unction and what turned out to be last rites.” Brendan was aware that the Chief was a devout Catholic and would have been angered by the situation as well, had he been there.

“I’m certain my brother will be exonerated as he had no relationship to Mr. Bauer and therefore no reason to kill him. And the man was already dead when he got there!”

“Is that what the good Father said?”

“Despite what occurred, I’d like to work on this case. Clyde told me just now that he was able to retrieve some empty vials of morphine and additional syringes.”

Not to be diverted from the meat of the discussion, the Chief continued, “I understand Owen’s demeanor makes a bull in a china shop look like a newborn calf.”

Brendan was about to vigorously agree, but the Chief held up his hand to halt the interruption.

“But you were no better. I think that what you can pick up from him in knowledge and modern techniques will be helpful. And your ‘finesse’ can rub off on him since I am now assigning him as your partner.”

Brendan clenched his teeth, thanked the Chief and managed to maintain a calm demeanor when he was dismissed, although he was seething with rage at the injustice of having to deal with Owens on a daily basis. The only pleasure he felt was seeing Owens at his desk in the bullpen with a swollen nose and two black eyes. Anybody with a greater sense of pride would have made up some excuse as to what had happened. And anyone who wanted to fit into a new environment wouldn’t have gone to the boss first thing and tattled.

No sooner had Brendan, supervisor for the detective unit, got back to his office than Dominic Barone appeared in the doorway. Brendan beckoned him in and swung his hand in front of his face to indicate the door should be closed.

Dominic sat down.

“I’ve done penance in the past, but this is going to be a tough one. The Chief wants me to work with Owens, so I’ll have to assign you to someone else.”

“That’s not right. We’ve all put it together why Chicago wanted to get rid of him. Now we have to discover a way to make him plead to go back home.”

“Treat him to the worst food Boston has to offer?” Brendan suggested.

“He probably thinks it’s foul already. I heard him say that he thinks that Chicago’s corned beef is the best in the world.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“He’s been staying at a boarding house and complained about the food. Surely one of us—not you, of course—can suggest somewhere in one of the noisiest and most crime-ridden areas of the city? For reasons unknown, he has taken a shine to me.”

“In that case, maybe you could work with him.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Dominic said with a smile. “Nice try. The Chief has decreed that he’s to be your partner, not mine. I’ll only go so far as colluding with you to make his life miserable. As if showing up at work with two black eyes and everyone knowing the reason why doesn’t prove his lack of common sense.”

“Oh, Dominic. How stupid it was to let anger get the best of me.”

Dominic stood and, making the sign of the cross in the air, said, “Son, say two Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys.”

Brendan took a pencil from his desk and tossed it at the retreating figure.

Taking some minutes to swallow his pride, Brendan sauntered out to the bullpen, the eyes of the other detectives upon him. Clyde, oblivious of his approach, kept puzzling over some sheets of paper on his desk. The typing stopped and telephone conversations ceased as the room fell into utter silence. Clyde looked up and thought all eyes were on him. But after a moment, he realized that everyone was looking at someone behind him. He whirled around in his chair and stood up so suddenly that the chair was knocked over.

Instead of seeing a furious Brendan Halloran glaring at him, he beheld his boss with a calm face and a slight smile.

“Sorry about the dust-up yesterday,” Brendan said, holding out his hand. Clyde was slow to shake it, not knowing what to expect. The tension was broken, and the other detectives exchanged looks.

“Let’s go to my office to see where we are with the Bauer situation,” Brendan said. There was no way he was going to refer to it as a case just yet.

After sitting behind his desk, Brendan gestured for Clyde to sit in the chair opposite. The newcomer didn’t know what to make of the courtesy and calm that his supervisor exuded, and the wary look on his face made him look like a raccoon caught rummaging in a trash can.

“So where are we?”

Clyde looked at the paper he still held in his hand as if wondering how it got there. “I asked the lab to test for fingerprints on the needle.” He stopped short.

“I guess you’ll have to contact Father Halloran to come submit his prints for verification. I can assure you that his prints are certainly not on file in any jurisdiction.” Brendan’s smile held no warmth.

Clyde’s face turned red and, without making eye contact, he asked, “Would you like me to do that?”

“Yes, I think that would be appropriate since we’ll be working this case together.”

The brown eyes in the bruised orbits stared back.

“The Chief thought it might be best. Do you know when the autopsy will take place?”

“It should be today if your Medical Examiner is any good. I’ll follow up on that.”

Brendan took a deep breath. “I don’t know if you want to be here in Boston, and I really don’t care. But if you want to have any modicum of success here, softening your attitude and comments would work better.”

“What? I just made a comment about how things move so slowly here.”

“We may not be Chicago, but we’re hardly a backwater. Let me amend what I just said. You may not have to change your attitude, but you do have to change how you talk about this place, your colleagues and this city. If you want to be successful, that is. And success is dependent upon working with others. It’s probably the same in Chicago—if no one wants to work with you, you’ll face obstacles and lack of access to information.”

Clyde looked more puzzled than contrite, but at least he wasn’t arguing the point.

“Being smart and being right aren’t the most important things in life.”

“They have been to me,” Clyde countered.

“You’re a little too old to be hanging on to that view of life.” Brendan stood up and took a deep breath. “We have the laborious task of interviewing all the people in the house. There seemed to have been a lot of them. And to be more precise: interviewing the people who should have been in the house but were outside chasing a cat.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t you get going and set that up with the family and staff? We can begin as soon as you and they are ready. That’s all.”

Clyde nodded and left quickly, and Brendan blew out a breath. If he didn’t want this to be a miserable situation, he had to be direct with the man from the get-go.

Less than ten minutes had transpired when Clyde knocked on his open door.

“The staff are already there, and the daughter said that we could come right away.”

“Did she seem cooperative? Anxious? Angry? Defensive?”

Clyde’s mouth hung open as he searched for the right adjective. “I couldn’t tell. She just said we could come right away.”

“Hm,” Brendan said. He wished he had Dominic working with him—he could pick up on the nuances of tone of voice, choice of words—and that would be only from a phone call. Clyde didn’t seem to be able to do that.

Brendan drove and gave Clyde a bit of history of the Dorchester neighborhood. “It’s a very old place, incorporated in 1830 before the city of Boston. It got annexed into Boston sometime in the last century, but the residents have a strong sense of identity with an annual Dorchester Day, if you can believe it, celebrating its founding. If you listen to a native, they’ll tell you how their city invented everything from the first public school to the first town hall meeting. I’ve had to attend town hall meetings on behalf of the police and, although kudos to the public spirit and all that, I sometimes wish they hadn’t started that tradition.”

“What do you mean?” Clyde asked.

“I was a new officer and didn’t know any better. There I was in my spotless uniform with the polished brass buttons expecting to be thanked, if not lauded, for my service to the community. Instead, I felt called on the carpet for every unsolved burglary or other criminal offense. I wasn’t even familiar with half the cases they were talking about. That was certainly a baptism by fire.”

Brendan looked over at Clyde, who was taking it all in.

“Beware when a supervisor smiles as he suggests you do something.” Brendan smiled, which added to Clyde’s discomfort. After a pause, he resumed his description of the area. “Somehow, Dorchester became the vacation suburb of Boston, which is ridiculous when you consider how close they both are. But I suppose the ocean breezes are better down there and a lot of expensive mansions were built that still stand. Harrison Square is the ritzy area if you’re interested in sightseeing sometime. Not today.”

They passed a park and large houses with expansive lawns and mature trees.

“I don’t know anything about the family yet, but we’ll find out more. One thing is obvious: Mr. Bauer was quite well off.” Brendan looked over at Clyde, who seemed to be listening intently. “And where there’s money, there’s sure to be a squabble about who gets what. While you may have thought it was a suspicious death, we don’t have proof of anything just yet. The autopsy may indicate that the man died of whatever he had been suffering from. It's very important while interviewing that you be dispassionate and make no assumptions. That was a mistake yesterday and got everyone’s nose out of joint.”

“Mine most of all,” Clyde said.

Brendan gave a chuckle. “Good one.” He sat back and, after a moment’s thought, asked, “What was your job in the Chicago Police Department?”

“I helped set up a system for a lab where people with technical expertise could assist in analyzing information.”

“Such as…”

“We found a ballistics expert—a civilian—and then recruited him. He didn’t just look at identifying the gun from which a bullet was fired. He was able to recreate the angles of trajectory, which was helpful when we didn’t know where the weapon was fired from. As you can imagine, he was one heck of a pool player.”

“We found someone else who had worked with fingerprints and was excellent at deciphering partials. Another man specialized in blood splatters, which could indicate how far the shooter stood from the victim. A former beautician helped us part-time in identifying the natural hair color of victims and assisting with reconstruction. We found a physical anthropologist with sculpture for a hobby who could recreate facial features from a skull. The best was an archaeologist who had a vast knowledge of geology and soils and could identify residue on victims’ and suspects’ clothing.”

Brendan was impressed but he wasn’t about to let the other man know. He was humbled by the expertise that another department had assembled and embarrassed that he had dismissed Clyde out of hand for his social awkwardness.

“Have you had any experience interviewing people?” Brendan knew the answer before it was given.

“I didn’t get the chance. There was a little incident that derailed my time there.”

Brendan waited for the explanation.

“I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Okay. Well, let me tell you how I work. I keep a poker face and make no assumptions about anybody. I keep my language neutral, make no accusations or declarations of innocence or guilt while interviewing people. It’s important not to jump to conclusions, too. Remember, you are the one asking the questions, although some clever folks will turn the tables to get information out of you. Be aware of the ‘fainties,’ the young women who will play on your emotions because of their supposedly frail nature. There’s a lot more, but it’ll be on-the-job training for you. I want you to observe. Say nothing and show no emotion. If you think of something that I’ve overlooked, write me a note or tell me later. We often interview people more than once. All right. Ready?” Brendan pulled up to the house and got out of the car.

Clyde’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the sudden brisk question and got out as well.

“Remember—watching, not talking,” Brendan said as they made their way to the impressive front door.

“We need to ascertain who was where and why everyone left the house to capture a cat, usually a hopeless endeavor, to leave a dying man alone in his room.”

“But he probably wasn’t alone, if the broken needle is any indication,” Clyde said.

“We’ll have to wait for the post-mortem. It might be difficult to separate whatever his terminal illness was from what might have been administered to him. If that was what happened. And I can assure you, Father Halloran had no hand in anything nefarious.”

“Don’t people usually kill to hasten their inheritance? What was the point in killing a dying man?” Clyde asked.

“If he was killed, that is,” Brendan said.

Chapter 4

They had parked in front of the Bauer home and Brendan once again considered what a valuable asset it was. He wondered if he could ask Amanda to research the Bauer family and find out the source of their wealth. Would he have to go through her father first? Or was she now a private investigator on her own? He’d have to pay her—and, of course, he didn’t have a clue what she charged—and then would the Chief even consider approving the arrangement? Things were getting complicated.

The man they had seen outside Mr. Bauer’s bedroom answered the door with a black armband on his uniform. He nodded to them and asked who he should announce.

“Actually, I’d like to talk to the cook and the maid,” Brendan said. “And you are?”

The butler, trained not to react, nonetheless was taken aback by the question. “Waechter,” he said with a brief smile before asking who he should tell them was there to speak to them.

The information given succinctly, Brendan noticed that the butler gave a side glance at the hefty man who accompanied him and his very noticeable black eyes. He knew, of course, how that had happened as he was standing in the hall when the punch was landed.

They snaked their way through the sitting room and dining room before arriving at the kitchen, a spacious, high-ceilinged room with clerestory windows and a massive stove to one side.

The cook, a large woman in a white apron, turned at their approach and said, “Ja?”

Brendan’s first thought was: a German cook. The family must eat hearty foods, judging by her size. Before Waechter had a chance to speak, Brendan introduced himself and Clyde and asked if they could have a few minutes to ask her some questions. She looked back at the stove where something was on a burner and, seeming content that there was no imminent danger of it scorching, agreed.

“We can talk in here, if you like,” Brendan said.

That was even more to her liking as it was her domain. She smiled and motioned to the stools that surrounded the gigantic butcher block surface. Waechter still lingered by the door until the cook said, “It’s all right.” He nodded and left.

Whatever was simmering smelled of onions and spices and, despite Brendan’s having had a filling breakfast, his stomach told him otherwise.

Opening his notebook to confirm her name, he began, “Mrs. Schneider, is it?”

She nodded and looked at his notebook to see what he was writing.

“You’ve worked for the Bauer family a long time?”

“Ja, ja,” she said. “They are the family I worked for when I first came here.”

Picking up on her accent, he asked where she was from.

“Bavaria. It’s a beautiful place, but after my husband died, there wasn’t much work. I had a cousin living in Boston and that’s why I came here.”

“Was Mr. Bauer a good employer?”

She seemed surprised by the question. “Ja, ja. He was very kind. His wife also, although she died many years ago. He always gives us presents at Christmas.” She smiled at the memory, tears welling in her eyes that she blinked away.

“You work here every day?” Brendan asked.

“Yes. I have to. So many people in the house now, with Mr. Bauer being sick.” She ticked them off on her hands. “The sister, the daughter, the granddaughter, the nurse, Ingrid, Waechter and me. And coming soon, his wife.”

Brendan looked up. “I thought you said she passed away?”

“That was his first wife. He has another wife. She has been visiting friends somewhere.”

“Do you know where?”

“No, they didn’t tell me. Only that she will be coming home today or tomorrow.”

“What happened yesterday that everyone was out of the house?”

“That silly cat, Moritz.” Her eyes darted to the door of the pantry as if someone might have overheard her. “He’s a good mouser and little Rosie loves him. But he likes to hide and escapes every chance he can get. That’s what happened yesterday.”

“But the entire house emptied out to find the cat?”

“There is traffic on the streets and Rosie was so upset. The nurse said she could see him in the yard from the upstairs window.”

“It sounds like one thing led to another and everyone pitched in to help,” Clyde said. Brendan shot him a look and he became quiet.

“That’s what happened,” she agreed. “Even Ingrid helped, although she is not fond of that cat.”

“Who is Ingrid?”

“The maid. Ingrid Weber.”

“Who caught the cat?” Clyde asked. “Not that it’s important,” he clarified looking over to Brendan for approval.

“The silly animal thought it was a game that everyone was chasing him around the yard and into the bushes, but finally he came out and jumped into Rosie’s arms. What a lot of trouble! And then to come back into the house to find out that Mr. Bauer had died.” She shook her head, pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and blotted her eyes.

“Oh!” came a voice from the pantry. Three heads turned in that direction to see a young woman in a black maid’s dress, her hand up to her mouth in surprise.

“Come in, Ingrid. These men will want to talk to you.”

The young woman was frozen in place and looked as if, given the chance, she would run away.

“Come, come. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Ingrid approached and Mrs. Schneider seated her at the remaining stool.

“Let me check on this,” she added, getting up and taking the lid off the pot emitting steam and what promised to be a delicious lunch. She turned off the burner and sat back down.

Brendan introduced himself and Clyde, and the maid nodded her head but said nothing.

“Do you speak English?” Brendan asked.

“Yes, of course,” she answered with a slight accent.

“Can you tell me what happened yesterday?”

Ingrid looked to the cook and back to Brendan and answered, “Mr. Bauer died.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, we all know that. I meant, tell me about the events that led up to his death.”

“I don’t know. He had been sick for some time. Nobody told me what the matter was with him, and it wasn’t my place to ask.” She grasped one hand tightly with the other and kept looking at him with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m not being very clear. Let’s go back to the moment when the cat escaped yesterday. Where were you and what did you do?”

“I was in the dining room when I heard everyone yelling and Mrs. Schneider put her head around the corner and asked me to help.”

“I said, ‘Come, Ingrid, you know Moritz likes you, even if you don’t like him,’” Mrs. Schneider offered.

“Yes, that’s what she said. So, I followed her out the kitchen door and into the yard, looking in the usual places he liked to hide. Under the bushes.”

“It’s a big yard,” Mrs. Schneider added.

“How long were you all out there looking?”

“It’s hard to say,” Ingrid answered.

“More than ten minutes, I would say. I thought we’d never find him. And then—poof! He jumps out at Miss Rosie.” Mrs. Schneider clapped her hands to illustrate the sudden reappearance of the cat.

“Did you notice anyone going into the house while you were all out in the yard? A member of the household? Or a stranger?”

The two women looked at each other and shook their heads.

“No, and we would have said something if a stranger was there. But we were looking for the cat and maybe someone could have sneaked in the house,” Ingrid offered.

The two women looked at one another with shock. “Do you think it was?” Mrs. Schneider asked.

“We don’t know enough yet.”

“What happened after the cat was found?”

“We came back into the house: Ingrid, Waechter and I into the kitchen by the back door and the family through the front door.”

“Are you sure everyone from the household was out in the yard?”

The two women looked at each other again, and Mrs. Schneider spoke for them both. “We were not all in the same place. The yard is big and there are so many bushes to look under.”

Brendan paused. It was not quite the answer he was looking for, but he let it slide.

“I think that’s all. If we have any further questions, we’ll be in touch.”

Ingrid popped up from the stool and strode to the kitchen door.

“A moment,” Brendan began.

She turned her wide eyes back to him.

“Could you ask Miss Bauer, the sister, to come downstairs so we can speak with her?”

Ingrid nodded and sped out the door.

Brendan and Clyde looked at one another.

“She’s young still,” Mrs. Schneider said. “I think she gets afraid in front of men.”

The butler came in through the kitchen door and looked at Brendan.

“There is a phone call for you, if you’d follow me.”

Clyde looked at Brendan and clarified, “I gave the number where we would be just in case something came up.”

They ended up in a small, octagonal room and Waechter stepped outside to afford Brendan privacy.

The Medical Examiner, who was always abrupt, wasted no words.

“It looks like the man had advanced lung cancer and, guessing by the administration of the morphine, had been in considerable pain. The man may have been terminally ill, but he was given a lethal dose. And judging by the bruising at the injection site, it was administered by somebody who either didn’t know what they were doing or was nervous and shaking at the time.

Chapter 5

Brendan stepped back out into the hallway where the butler informed them that he would escort them to the study. He led the way through the dining room, the sitting room, a short hall that branched off to two other halls, past closed doors and open doors where the opulence of the house was on display. He stopped at last at a closed door, which he opened, and announced to the middle-aged woman on a loveseat that the two gentlemen had arrived.

No names, Brendan thought. At least he didn’t refer to them as cops.

The woman didn’t stand up but motioned to two sturdy, upholstered chairs.

Brendan introduced himself and Owens, and they sat.

“Miss Bauer?” Brendan began.

“Yes, I’m Herman’s sister,” she said in a British accent.

“We’d like to offer our sincere condolences.”

“I don’t understand why you are here. Surely you already know that my brother had been ill for some time. His death was not unexpected.”

“While that may be true, there are circumstances that lead us to investigate further.”

She looked from one man to the other with her steel grey eyes. “Such as?”

“You may have overhead the discovery of a broken hypodermic needle in your brother’s room.”

“Is that what all the altercation was about?” she asked, looking at Clyde, who put one hand over his brow as if to hide the black eyes.

“There was a lot of confusion yesterday. I understand it started with the escaped cat.”

She exhaled in annoyance. “Ever since my niece and her daughter came back, things have been in a constant state of upset and emotional scenes. I understand she wanted to be with her father at the end, but instead of a peaceful transition, there were arguments, crying and all the trouble with that cat! Tearing at the furniture, doing its business on the carpet, hiding who knows where and then racing outside when given the chance. I was at my wits’ end, but I couldn’t ask them to leave. And now to add to the crisis, Herman’s wife is coming.”

“I thought she was expected.”

“Of course. But she and my niece don’t get along. There will be arguments about who gets to make the arrangements and who owns what.” Although her voice had risen with the imagined scene, her body was entirely still. “And don’t caution me that there must have been a will. Of course there is. The point is, many of the things in this house belonged to my late sister-in-law, and my niece will be sure to want to keep those things. Although my current sister-in-law is calm, I’m not looking forward to the next few weeks.”

“Yes, these situations are often difficult. That aside for the moment, can you describe the events of yesterday?” Brendan asked, not yet ready to get into the family dynamics, although they must play a part in understanding the situation.

“I was here in the study reading and I could hear shouting and people running—not that little Rosie isn’t prone to that kind of behavior every day. That’s why I do my reading in here, as far from the noise of the household as possible. But then I heard my niece call out to me for help, so I went quickly to the hall, and she said that the cat had escaped and worse, Rosie had run outside after the animal. That’s how I got caught up in the search.”

“Where was everyone else?”

“I couldn’t say. Once outside, there was a mad scramble to find the cat. I did see the cook and the nurse poking around in the shrubbery, and it was a long time before Moritz jumped out of the bushes right into Rosie’s arms.” She shook her head in disapproval. “All that fuss! Then we went back into the house and heard something from my brother’s room, and there stood a priest, looking just as surprised as I was. I went to the bed, but my brother was gone.” The façade finally broke and she shook with sobs.

Brendan looked down at his notebook and Clyde glanced over to see if he should be doing or saying something. Sensing his discomfort, Brendan shook his head slightly and they waited until she got control.

“Can we get anyone for you?”

She exhaled deeply. “No. I can’t say his passing was unexpected, but it’s still a terrible shock.”

“If there’s anything else you can remember, please don’t hesitate to contact us,” he said, giving her a business card. The two officers stood and made their way back to the sitting room, where Waechter seemed to be waiting for them.

“Were you gentlemen expecting to talk to anyone else today?” he asked.

Brendan looked at his wristwatch and, seeing it was only mid-morning, decided he should interview the nurse. He hadn’t shared the news from the Medical Examiner with Clyde, and he wasn’t going to share it with the nurse either just yet. His plan was, once finished with the nurse, he would drop Clyde off at the station, meet Amanda for lunch and then resume interviews on his own for the rest of the day.

The butler guided the two officers into the dining room, where the nurse sat with her hands clasped in front of her on the table. She didn’t look any less hostile than the day before when she wasn’t aware he was with the police.

“Good morning, I don’t believe we have your name yet,” Brendan said before sitting opposite.

“Nurse Schultz,” she said. She still had her uniform and cap on, although she presumably had no further duties in the household.

“Are you staying on?” he asked.

“I should say not. Just waiting to get paid and then I’m gone.”

“We do need your address, however. In case there are additional questions or information.”

She rattled off a local Boston address. “I do private nursing mostly these days. Put in my years at Mercy Hospital. I just do this to keep busy and for the pin money.”

“What was Mr. Bauer being treated for?”

“You’ll have to get that information from his doctor.”

“All right. I understand that you were employed to administer medication in addition to your nursing duties.”

“That’s right.”

“And what was the medication?”

“You’ll have to get that information from his doctor.”

“We already know it was morphine.”

“The doctor’s name? Or are you not allowed to say?”

She glared at him. “Doctor Browne.”

“Thank you.” Brendan took his time writing some notes and could feel the tension across the table. “Were you the only one to administer medication through a hypodermic needle?”

“Of course! We can’t have just anybody mucking around with needles and narcotics.” She stopped short and put her lips together as if to prevent any further words leaking out.

“How many times a day did you have to give him injections?”

“Usually four times a day.”

“Was he awake most of the time? Interacting with people?”

“Oh, no. He’d been in the end stages for several days. He wasn’t aware of much.”

“Not talking?”

“Certainly not.”

“Can you explain how a hypodermic needle was found on the floor of his bedroom?”

“Unless the priest brought it in,” she smirked.

Brendan gave her a level stare. “That’s highly unlikely. Where were the medical equipment and the medication stored?”

Nurse Schultz looked uncomfortable. “It’s kept at room temperature.”

“Where?”

“On top of the chest of drawers in his bedroom.”

“Where anyone could have access to it?”

“There’s not an autoclave in the house, so someone from the doctor’s office would bring over sterilized needles each day and take away the contaminated ones. I was careful to keep them separate.”

“How?

“In different kidney-shaped bowls on the bureau top. The sterile ones were covered in one to keep dust off, and the used needles were left out in the other.”

“So how many sterile hypodermics were on top of the bureau yesterday morning?”

“There should have been four. One used and three waiting to be administered.”

“Okay,” Brendan said.

“Well, you took everything off the top of the bureau when you left yesterday, so you should know how many needles there were and of what kind. And how much morphine, too.”

She added, “Nobody came into that room except me. And, well, his sister.”

“Were you on duty all day and night in the room?”

“Of course not. I needed a break. And this past week, as he got weaker, I sometimes rested on the cot there.”

“I’m surprised the family didn’t have round-the-clock observation on him.”

“The family didn’t think it was necessary,” she shot back.

“Meaning they didn’t want to pay for two people?”

She just stared in response.

“If things had been normal, there would have been available needles and narcotics in the room for you to administer throughout the day, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. I just said that. You ought to know that since you took the rest away. Do you think one of the family hastened his death?”

“I can’t speculate at this time. But you are sure no one else administered the medication to him?”

“No, of course not. Who would know how much and how to do it?”

“Exactly.” Brendan continued to jot down notes. When he was done, he thanked her and said they might have to follow up more.

She glared at him.

They left the sitting room and Brendan explained to Waechter that he would return in a few hours and would like to speak with him then. The unflappable man merely nodded and escorted the two officers to the front door.

Chapter 6

“What do you think?” Brendan asked Clyde as they got into the car.

“The nurse did it, of course.”

Brendan looked at the other man in astonishment. “What possible motive could she have?”

Clyde stammered a bit before Brendan interrupted him. “If anything, she would want to keep him alive as long as possible since she’s being paid to watch him. She was seen in the yard hunting down the cat, so she wasn’t upstairs administering a fatal dose.”

“Then why was she so angry?”

“Because we were treading on her professional ground, implying by our questions that she didn’t take proper care of the medical equipment or medication. She may have an axe to grind with the family for whatever reason but no rationale to kill an already dying man.”

“Hmm,” Clyde said. “She acted pretty guilty.”

“I have a lunch date, so I’ll drop you off at the station. Have a chat with the Medical Examiner and look at the evidence we brought from the house yesterday. The number of needles, the amount of morphine in the container and anything else. We want to make sure her recollection of events checks out. And write up the notes from the interviews this morning. On a typewriter—not longhand.”

Clyde looked amazed at the request. “I don’t know how to type!”

“Do what everyone else does. Hunt and peck. Two-finger typing. It’s a good skill to learn. I’ll check in when I get back.”

Brendan shook his head as he drove off, wondering if there was some way to ditch this guy as his new partner. It certainly wasn’t a relationship of equals—not by rank, experience or temperament. He knew that, if Dominic had been assisting, they could have interviewed twice as many people with deeper insight into what was going on. The longer it took to interview everyone, the more time they had to speak to each other, change their stories or collude.

Amanda had agreed to meet him at Barney’s in Roxbury, famous for its traditional local cuisine, and he could see her park as he pulled up in front. They kissed on the street and hurried out of the cold into the warm interior.

“This is an interesting choice for you,” Amanda said as he helped her out of her overcoat.

“I’m in need of sustenance to continue dealing with my new best friend.”

Amanda looked at him quizzically.

“Clyde.”

“What happened to Dominic?”

“The Chief thought it would be a learning experience for me to deal with the only man in my recent memory to have provoked me to hit him.”

They sat at a booth and were handed menus.

“He was very obnoxious, I’ll grant you that. But I was also surprised at the intensity of your reaction.”

“Now you know how I value loyalty to my family and close connections.”

Amanda reached across the table and took his hand. “I already knew that. It’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry you.”

“My charm and good looks had nothing to do with it?”

“You’re hopeless about taking a compliment.”

He put the menu down as the waiter approached. “I’ve already decided. You?”

“Yes. I’ll have the Yankee Pot Roast and coffee.”

Brendan looked surprised. “That’s a mighty robust meal for you. But I’ll have the same.” The waiter left to put in the order.

“I don’t know if it’s strength you need to or just a greater amount of patience,” Amanda said.

Brendan opened his eyes wide in mock horror. “I am the model of patience! Imagine growing up in such a large family and trying to keep my sanity. And then chasing after you for all those months to get you to notice me.”

“Oh, I noticed you from the first, all right,” she said. “And don’t be smug about my admission.”

“Then I’ll change the subject. What’s going on at work?”

“I got a new job.”

Brendan jerked his head up and his black hair flopped onto his forehead before he brushed it back with a hand. “Where?”

“Not where—who. I’m still on retainer with my father’s firm for their business, but this person called me out of the blue to do an investigation.” She paused for effect. “Mrs. Bauer.”

Brendan was silenced.

“Really. The widow called and specifically asked for me,” Amanda said.

“From Boston?”

“No, it was a long distance call. I don’t know where she was calling from, but she said she’d be back in an hour.”

“Do you think she is trying to sabotage my investigation?”

“What a strange take on my news, Brendan. I think, because she was not in town at the time, she wants to get the full story on what occurred. I see it as working together with the police—that is, you—to get to the facts of the tragedy.”

“This morning, I learned that it is more than a tragedy. It is a murder investigation.”

The waiter arrived with the coffee and, as he fussed about pouring it from the silver pot, positioning the pot on the table and placing the sugar bowl and creamer, the couple stared at each other. It wasn’t until he was out of earshot that they resumed their conversation in lower tones.

“Tell me,” Amanda said.

“Mrs. Bauer will shortly learn, if she doesn’t know by now, that her husband did not die from the illness he had—and the nurse had the audacity to claim I could only get that information from the doctor himself—but he died from an overdose of morphine. You don’t have to tell her. I can or the Medical Examiner will.”

“In the broken syringe?”

“It would appear. Could the nurse have done that? I don’t think so. What motive did she have? As I said to Clyde, she had more reason to keep him alive as long as possible as a paid employee. And she would never be so careless as to drop it on the floor and leave it there. Plus, she was busy chasing the cat around the yard.”

“Maybe she gave him a shot when everyone was emptying out of the house. Leaving the syringe on the floor could have been a way to make it look as if someone else did it. Maybe she was so distracted by the goings-on outside that she made a mistake and gave him an overdose.”

“The last suggestion is plausible, but unlikely. Since she had access to the morphine, she could have done it at any time. Why yesterday? It had to be somebody else. I’ll get more information from the Medical Examiner, who didn’t think it looked like a professionally administered injection. That could point us in the direction of who might be responsible.”

The Yankee Pot Roast was one of the specialties of the restaurant, much in demand, and their order arrived at the table quickly.

“I hope you can do it justice,” Brendan said, looking at her plate heaped with food. “Or Cromwell will have a nice dinner.”

“That’s a wonderful suggestion. I wonder if he likes carrots. You know, I am astonished that he has adjusted to our household so quickly. Even Louisa, who is not an animal lover unless it means a fur stole or an alligator handbag, has taken to him. Not enough to take him for walks, but she pets him and talks to him.”

“What secrets does she impart?”

“The source of her boyfriend’s money? Not likely.”

They each began to eat the beef, which was so tender that it fell apart on the fork.

“I was wondering, Brendan, about how we can both work on this case together. Do you think there is a degree of confidentiality with my client that would prevent me from telling you something that she tells me?”

“Interesting question and perhaps one for your attorney parent to pick apart. As I see it, you are not protected by attorney-client privilege so, if she should happen to confess to murdering her husband, you can share that with me.”

“Of course she didn’t murder her husband! She was out of town.”

Brendan raised an eyebrow. “She was out of town. That doesn’t mean that she couldn’t have hired someone to do it for her. Or perhaps she sneaked into the house in disguise, did the deed and left.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Amanda said. “Anyone sneaking into the house would risk being seen.”

“We have to keep open minds about every possibility.”

“Including that your brother administered the fatal dose because his fingerprints were all over the syringe? What could his motive be? Forcing Mr. Bauer to rewrite his will to hand over the family fortune—all in gold, as my father has said—to the Diocese for the eternal redemption of his soul?”

“That’s a good theory, in fact,” Brendan said. “Except that I know, if the nurse isn’t lying, that Mr. Bauer was not able to communicate and certainly couldn’t have changed a will. At least, not recently. And where is that supposed new will? Wouldn’t Father Patrick have waved it in the family’s face as soon as he had it in hand?”

“You said to keep an open mind, that’s all. I suspect things are a lot murkier than we already believe. And I hope your brother is off the hook.”

Chapter 7

At that very moment, Father Patrick was in an interview room at the station, sitting across the table from Clyde Owens, who had not yet let go of his theory of the priest’s involvement in the murder.

“Had you been to the Bauer house before?”

“Yes, I took his confession about a week ago, when he was still alert. He was able to talk.”

“His confession! About what?”

Father Patrick realized the man had no idea what he had been saying. “I’m talking about a sacrament of the Catholic Church, where the individual confesses his sins, asks for contrition and has those sins absolved, followed by the Eucharist.”

Brendan was just entering the bullpen when Dominic nodded his head toward the interview room, indicating he should attend to something, and he hastened his steps, his unbuttoned overcoat flapping as he moved.

“What’s going on?” Brendan glared at Clyde as he entered the room without knocking.

“Hello, Bren. I decided to come in and let you all know the circumstance of Sunday, but they said you were out to lunch,” Patrick said.

Brendan took off his hat and coat, sat in an adjacent chair and addressed the fellow officer.

“You know you should always have more than one person present when making a formal interview.”

“I didn’t think it was a formal interview,” Clyde said.

“He might have thought so based on your comments yesterday at the scene.”

Clyde scratched his head and Patrick looked at his brother.

“Now that you’re here, should we proceed? I don’t have to be back until three today.”

“All right,” Brendan conceded, still not comfortable with his brother’s easy manner.

“Let’s start with who called you out to the Bauer house in the first place,” Clyde said.

“It was a woman’s voice, and she didn’t identify herself. I had been out several times before and I could see that the poor soul had been deteriorating so I wasn’t surprised to be summoned. I drove out and, as I mentioned before, the front door was ajar, which I thought was strange. I called out and no one responded, so I ascended to the second floor and went to Mr. Bauer’s room.”

“Did you hear anybody outside?”

“I wasn’t paying attention to anything other than looking for the nurse or somebody else.”

“Yet the entire household was outside calling for the cat. And you didn’t hear that?” Clyde asked.

“He’s already answered, Officer Owens,” Brendan said. “He was there on a mission of great importance and may have blocked out any other distractions.”

“Just so,” Patrick said, pushing his dark hair back. “I called out his name and assumed he was asleep, but noticing that his chest wasn’t rising or falling, realized he might no longer be alive. I stepped forward to put my gear on the table before checking his pulse…”

“What gear?”

“The holy oil. That’s when I stepped on the syringe.”

“And you picked it up,” Clyde said with a sneer.

“Of course. And put it on the bedside table and turned my attention to Mr. Bauer.”

“Look, we’ve been through this before. I think it’s time to thank the good Father for voluntarily coming in and clarifying his actions.” Brendan stood up and opened the door for Patrick, shaking hands before he closed the door again. He turned to Clyde, who was just gathering his notes prior to getting up.

“We’re done with this line of questioning, do you understand? There are many more people to interview and Mrs. Bauer is on her way home. Have you finished typing up the notes?”

“No, sir.”

“Hop on it. I’m going back out to meet Mrs. Bauer.” He put his hat on his head and picked up his overcoat. “And just so you know, Amanda Burnside, who works as a private investigator, was hired by the widow. She’ll be working with us on this case. And no, it is not my family’s nepotism or conspiracy we’re investigating. There’s likely to be plenty to dig up with those folks in Savin Hill.”

Before he left the station, Brendan went to his office and called the Medical Examiner, who always seemed peeved by having to speak on the phone.

“Yes,” was his response to answering the call.

“One more thing, Doc. Were you able to find the injection site?”

“Couldn’t miss it. Mess of a job. Who the heck was the nurse on duty?”

“I’m not sure the nurse was on duty. If it looks like the work of an amateur, then perhaps it was,” Brendan said.

“Unless a professional wanted it to look that way,” was the response before the abrupt disconnect of the call.

Brendan got to the Bauer house just a few minutes after Amanda, who had waited in her car for him.

“I thought it would be best if we entered together to let Mrs. Bauer know that we are working together on this rather than at odds with one another. Where is Clyde?”

“He’s doing desk work back at the station.”

“Detention?”

“Sort of.”

“Why do you look so grumpy?”

“I try very hard not to let my personal feelings influence my cases, but that man just rubs me the wrong way. It didn’t help that my brother, trying to be helpful, volunteered to come to the station to make a statement while we were at lunch. Somehow Clyde took that as an admission of wrongdoing.”

Amanda shook her head in frustration. “Will he never stop?”

“I may have to pull rank after all if he doesn’t and let the Chief know that he is having a negative effect on the public’s perception of the department.”

“Has someone else complained?” Amanda asked as they walked to the impressive front door.

“Not yet. I don’t want to give him enough rope to allow that to happen.”

Brendan rang the bell, and the butler opened the door almost immediately.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Bauer,” Amanda said before giving her name.

“Oh, yes, she mentioned a private investigator would be coming. I just didn’t…” He trailed off, not saying the obvious.

“We’re both here to see Mrs. Bauer, actually,” Brendan added, and they were finally ushered in.

“I believe she’s waiting in the morning room. Let me take your things,” he said as they removed their coats and Brendan handed over his hat. Then he led them in a direction at the end of the house opposite to the location of the study and announced them to the woman seated at a round table near a window in the cheerfully decorated room. She got to her feet and shook hands with both.

Brendan had been expecting the stereotypical second wife of an elderly man, something along the lines of a young showgirl, but Mrs. Bauer contradicted that notion immediately. She was middle-aged, with graying hair pulled back in a bun and Marcel waves on the side, much like the hairstyle that Mrs. Burnside wore. No expensive jewelry was on display, and her sensible tweed skirt and wool twinset were in the subdued tones of tan and brown.

They sat and Brendan explained who he was, something she already knew, either from the staff or the family, and she had a warm smile for him and for Amanda. He also explained that they would be working together on the case.

“I’m grateful that you’ll be working cooperatively. Although my husband was in ill health, I was saddened to learn that there is suspicion of foul play in hastening it.”

“Yes, the Medical Examiner has stated his opinion to that effect.”

“I should think that you will need to interview all of us.”

“I already began this morning with some of the staff, but, yes, I’ll need to continue.”

“I didn’t propose to hire Miss Burnside to aid in that effort. What I would like her to do is find the location of the gold that my husband had stashed away.”

Brendan pretended to be surprised by her comment, although Amanda had already relayed the prevalent rumor about Mr. Bauer’s fortune that her father had shared with her.

“The two events may be connected,” Brendan suggested.

“Yes, that thought had occurred to me. But what good would killing him do if he had never revealed that information? We’d been married more than five years, and I have become familiar with every nook and cranny of this vast house. I can assure you that there are no secret passageways or hidden rooms where it might be. I don’t even know the value of what he is purported to have concealed. Initially, I thought he was joking and, at some point, I even wondered if he was a bit delusional.”

“That’s a whopper of a story to invent. And surely, he must have had access to sufficient funds to run this household and support its members,” Brendan said. “His treasure couldn’t all be hidden away.”

“Yes, he had money in the bank, and I have a large inheritance of my own from my first marriage that can maintain us all. But about a treasure, it was one area that he would not discuss. Now, if you don’t mind, Sergeant Halloran, I think I need to discuss the terms of my contract with Miss Burnside. If you want to continue your interviews or investigations, please feel free to do so.” She stood up, shook his hand and waited until he left the room before closing the door.

Chapter 8

It hadn’t been that long of a workday for Amanda when she left the Bauer house in the early afternoon, but it was a heady one. She had received her first contract outside of her father’s law firm for a private investigation. The contract was in her leather briefcase—a gift from Brendan—and although Mrs. Bauer had signed it, she knew enough from her father’s conversations at the dinner table that one should always have someone else look it over before she signed it.

It was fairly straightforward: paid by the hour, reimbursement for expenses, daily oral communication with her employer, weekly reports and invoices submitted and a bonus if she could ascertain the location of the gold. What she particularly liked about that wording was ‘ascertain the location,’ not actually get her hands on it. Mrs. Bauer would have to use her position as executor of the estate to take possession through legal means.

As Amanda drove home, her initial pleasure gave way to trepidation. What if Mrs. Bauer wasn’t the executor? What if Mr. Bauer’s will excluded his widow? Would the contract with her still hold water? That nagging nugget of doubt would not be satisfied until she discussed it with her father and had him look over the document.

She got home to find her mother in the sitting room listening to news reports on the radio with Cromwell at her feet.

“Mother,” Amanda said, bending to give her mother a kiss.

“Shh,” her mother responded. “Things are getting stranger than you can believe in Europe.”

Amanda hung up her coat in the front closet and sat down next to her mother and listened to the broadcast. “Why are the Germans always kicking up a fuss?” she asked, absently petting the dog behind the ears.

“They’re still reeling from losing the Great War. From what I’ve read, they still owe so much in reparations that the country may go bankrupt.”

“How can that even happen?” Amanda asked. “Do they just not pay their bills?”

Her mother shrugged.

“I’m going to put my feet up for a bit,” Amanda said, code for resting or perhaps napping without distinguishing between the two. She stopped at the table where the mail was stacked and picked up the latest edition of Harper’s Bazaar and took it upstairs to her room. Shoes off, feet propped up on a pillow, she began to leaf through the pages. The subscription had been obtained for her sister Louisa’s benefit since she worked in the fashion industry designing dresses for Monsieur Josef, one of the leading dressmakers in Boston. Although her sister always had an affinity for dressing up, no one in her family imagined that she had a flair for design as well and would get a successful job from it to boot. Amanda had much less interest in fashion but appreciated her sister’s advice and cast-offs.

After hearing slow footsteps coming down the hall a while later, Amanda called out, “Louisa, is that you?”

“Yes,” was the weary reply. “Let me just put my things down.” The thump was likely her portfolio, where she kept her sketches. A few minutes later, she appeared in Amanda’s room.

“Gosh, I’m tired. And look at my hair!” she exclaimed, taking in her mussed appearance in the vanity mirror.

“And you’ve got a run in your stocking,” Amanda said.

“The perfect ending of a perfect day,” Louisa said, looking over her shoulder to spot it.

“What happened?”

“Some woman came in just before lunch. New to town and thin as a stick. I’m betting she had no breakfast and that’s why she was brisk and cranky. Even so, she took up more than an hour of our time, rejecting one style after another and probably getting hungrier and grumpier by the minute. She finally gave up and said she’d be back tomorrow.”

“Who was it that said the ‘customer is always right?’” Amanda asked.

“Some idiot who never set foot in a fashion house. The more expensive the merchandise, the more people think it’s their right to complain.”

“You don’t think that happens in Woolworth’s, too?”

“I’m not about to find out any time soon.” Louisa plopped on the bed and stretched her neck from side to side.

“You’ll need to get in a better mood if you’re off to the Oasis tonight,” Amanda said, referring to Louisa’s boyfriend’s nightclub.

“Oh, I won’t be going. It’s Monday.”

“And?”

“Rob said that most restaurants are closed on Mondays because they’ve been open the other six days of the week. He got the bright idea of talking to membership clubs, like the Rotaries, that don’t have their own spaces and inviting them to have their lunch meetings there. With food and drink, of course. That grew into the Breakfast Club reserving a spot—and I don’t know what those folks do besides meet at breakfast time. A few political groups have also booked regular spots. And due to the volume of business and limits of space, he has expanded availability to breakfast and lunch every weekday.”

“That’s brilliant! He must be making money hand over fist. Just think of all the clubs there are. The Hibernians, the Elks, the Moose, and I’m sure some other totem animals.”

“The bigger groups have their own buildings, like the Sons of Italy. But now I know that the Poles do not, nor does one branch of the German population,” Louisa said.

“Regional issues you think? Or is it religious differences?”

“I don’t know. They are weekly regulars, very close-mouthed and they sing the national anthem at the end of each meeting.”

“I hope they drink a lot of Rob’s beer,” Amanda said.

“That goes without saying.”

“Rob is incredibly ambitious.”

“What do you mean?” Louisa said.

“I say it in admiration. He seems to seize opportunities that others haven’t thought of yet.”

“More like the lack thereof. His father was killed in the war and his mother was left an almost penniless widow. Somehow, she scraped enough money together to rent a home and operated it as a boarding house.”

“That must have taken a lot of courage. And a lot of work.”

“Yes, can you imagine all the cleaning, preparing of meals, and juggling complaints that likely occurred? And raising a young boy at the same time?”

“Have you met Mrs. Worley?” Amanda asked. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a lovely woman. Small, mild-mannered, with a house as neat as a pin. Not the same one with boarders—this is a house that Rob bought for her.”

“He’s certainly the self-made man.”

“Yes. And ambitious, but in a good way. That drive comes from self-preservation and a protective instinct toward his mother. He’s worked since he was in high school and wanted to go to college, but other opportunities presented themselves.”

“How did he get the Oasis?”

Louisa sighed. “There are some things he doesn’t go into detail about.”

“I noticed,” Amanda laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s an admirable trait to be able to say just enough and not too much. It’s one I would like to have. How did he meet José Guzmán and get him to put up the money for the nightclub?” In a quirk of fate, Guzmán was the brother-in-law of Amanda’s former boyfriend, Fred Browne.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever asked him that. But José’s family had liquidated their wealth when they came to the States and he wanted to invest it where it could grow. Wisely, he chose not to do it through the stock market or banks but mainly real estate. I’m sure he has other investments, but José doesn’t talk much about that. From his perspective coming from a wealthy family, one doesn’t talk about money. So that’s why he is the silent partner.”

“However they got together, it seems to be working out well for both. Why don’t you ask Rob over for dinner sometime? Mother and Daddy probably imagine sordid things about a nightclub owner when he is a very decent man, in my opinion. I think he’s demonstrated that.”

“Thanks for that, Amanda. I’ve tried to get him here numerous times but, except for the times he’s been here alone with me, you and Brendan, he seems to shy away from it. Anyway, right now, I’m going to have dinner and a bath and go to bed early. If I could, I would have a tray in my room or go to the dining room in my nightgown and robe.”

“That’s not going to happen unless you manufacture some illness, and then Mother will be all over you with mustard plasters and mentholated rubs.”

“Good thinking. I’ll just freshen up and that might give me some energy.”

They heard the telephone ring at the end of the hall. Simona must have picked it up, since she came down the hall a few moments later to let Amanda know the call was for her.

“Brendan, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I’ve had a very nonproductive afternoon.”

“What happened—or didn’t?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner if you’re done for the day?”

“Your parents won’t mind seeing so much of me?”

“I won’t and that’s what counts, isn’t it?”

“I would be delighted. However, that forces me to stay here at the station and catch up on paperwork until about six-thirty.”

“Come early.”

Simona took Brendan’s hat and coat with a smile; after all, it was he who introduced her to the Burnsides and the job that she now held. Being a maid in a well-to-do family had its benefits, with meals and light duty, since the heavy cleaning was done by an outside group. To add to the mix, she had pleasant and grateful employers.

Mr. and Mrs. Burnside and Amanda were already in the sitting room with a fire lit and small glasses of sherry poured. Mr. Burnside stood up and shook Brendan’s hand. Cromwell greeted him as well, with a wag of his feathery, rust-red tail.

“Just the man!” Mr. Burnside said.

“For what?”

“For just about anything, from what I hear. Amanda said you were dragged into court this afternoon.”

Mrs. Burnside’s eyebrows went up.

“To testify, dear,” her husband explained.

“Of course,” she said, returning to her needlepoint.

“Sit, sit,” Mr. Burnside urged as he proffered a glass of sherry. “It’s been years since I did criminal law, and it is much more delightful to hear about it than practice it, I can tell you.”

“If you had an experience such as the one I witnessed today, I can well understand.” He paused to take a sip of the sherry.

“Amanda and I were both at the Bauer residence today, as I’m sure she’ll tell you in more detail.”

Mr. Burnside seemed surprised.

“I’ll tell you later, Daddy.”

“I had intended to interview more of the household, but the station hunted me down and called to tell me that the judge in a larceny case had moved up the hearing. I had to hotfoot down to court and have a last-minute conference with the prosecutor before three o’clock. And then we waited and waited, and the defense attorney began to sweat and excused himself to bark at an underling to find the defendant. The judge was none too pleased and was scowling more intensely by the minute.”

“Who was the judge?”

Brendan told him, and the older man let out a guffaw. “Hasn’t changed a bit in all these years, I see.”

“The word came back to the attorney that the defendant had jumped bail. The judge slammed down his gavel, chewed out the defense, looked as if he were going to do the same to our side of the court but changed his mind, then made his pronouncement and got up so abruptly that we all had to spring to our feet before the bailiff could say, ‘All rise.’”

“What happens now?” Amanda asked.

“The bail bondsman has lost his money, the defense lawyer who was court-assigned due to the man’s lack of income doesn’t get a dime, the defendant is on the lam until they find him, which they likely will sometime soon, and then he’ll be locked up.”

“That’s awful.” Mrs. Burnside said.

“Awful for everyone. Waste of taxpayers’ money and the time of all those folks in support of the hearing.”

“Without prying into the details of the Bauer situation, you’re not working it by yourself, are you?” Mr. Burnside asked.

Brendan ran his fingers through his dark hair, avoiding eye contact for a moment. “Dominic Barone, who you may have met previously, used to assist me. There have been some personnel changes and I have a newcomer helping me. Although he is very rough around the edges.”

“A newcomer? Assigned to a senior officer?”

“I’m sure they wanted the young man to be mentored by the best,” Amanda said in defense.

Brendan gave her a grateful smile.

“Well, happy family!” Louisa said, entering the room. “And hello, Brendan.”

Brendan stood up and shook her hand. She had changed out of her dress and put on a sweater and slacks.

“Not going out tonight?” he asked.

“It’s Monday,” she said and then repeated the explanation that she had given Amanda about the Oasis and hence Rob Worley being occupied since the first breakfast meeting of the day.

“Isn’t that nice,” Mrs. Burnside said. “I wonder if my needlework group should meet there?”

The conversation came to a halt as they all contemplated a group of middle-aged women, each with a bag of needlework in tow, going to Boston’s club district and being ushered into the Oasis by a young doorman clad as Aladdin, a sheik or some fanciful Arabian character.

“But think, you wouldn’t want to get food all over your lovely work,” Louisa said.

“That’s a good point. Usually, when we meet at one another’s homes, we spend the first hour talking and working, then put our projects away and adjourn to a different room for tea and sandwiches,” Mrs. Burnside said.

Amanda smiled to herself, picturing her mother’s group downing martinis instead.

“What is your news, Amanda?”

“I was offered a contract by Mrs. Bauer.”

Her father was startled. “To work independently of the police? Does she know of your relationship to Brendan?”

“She is well aware and seems to think that it would only be more productive.”

“Very forward thinking of her, actually,” Brendan commented.

“That might be a rather fuzzy line between what each of you might find out or share,” her father said.

Simona came into the sitting room and announced that dinner was ready.

They got up and proceeded to the dining room.

“That’s why I brought the contract home, Daddy. I’d like for you to look it over after dinner, make sure it is to form but also to discuss with me what my boundaries should be. I certainly don’t want to overstep and run afoul of the law.”

“No, you don’t. The penalties could be harsh,” Brendan said with a smile as he pulled a chair out for her.

Chapter 9

Brendan hadn’t removed his hat or coat when he got to the station the next day before Clyde lumbered up to him, excitement in his voice. His face was flushed, making a colorful collage against the purple around his eyes.

“I talked to the Medical Examiner.”

“I bet that was enjoyable,” Brendan said, walking toward his office.

“He was rather terse. But he let me see the body.”

Putting his hat and overcoat on the coatrack in the corner of the room, Brendan looked back in surprise. “Doc must have taken a real shine to you.”

“I don’t know about that, but he told me that Mr. Bauer died from an overdose of morphine.”

“Yes, I know. He called me when we were at the house yesterday.”

Clyde’s face fell.

“Sorry, things were moving quickly.” Brendan sat down and watched Clyde leaf through a small notepad.

“Also, here’s what I noted. His fingernails were unusually long.”

“The Medical Examiner’s?”

“No, Mr. Bauer’s.”

“He had been in bed a long time. That stands to reason.”

“Oh.” Clyde flipped a page, but it was blank, so he stopped speaking.

“Give me about an hour and we’ll go back to the house. I think you can interview the butler and I’ll tackle the daughter. Miss Burnside will be out there working with Mrs. Bauer and I’m sure she’ll get a lot of information from her.”

“Why is that?”

“Because she’s a woman and the widow will feel more at ease with her.”

“Oh, right.” Clyde shambled out of the room and nearly collided with Dominic, who then squeezed past. He shut the door behind him.

“You’re going to like this,” Dominic said, sitting down. “You know my sister, Anna? The widow?”

“How is she doing? It’s been what, over a year?”

“She’s doing fine. She’s got a job, and the twins are nine and in school all day. Still, money’s a bit tight.”

“What else is new?”

“The family is pressuring her to get married again, but I think she’s just become adjusted to her independence. Plenty of guys are interested, too.”

“She is a beautiful woman.”

“With a sharp tongue and little patience. So, here’s the deal: she’s got an extra bedroom, and we suggest to Clyde that he rent the room.”

Brendan scowled. “Keep me out of this. It already sounds screwy.”

“No, it’s genius. She’s not the greatest cook and the boys are hellions. It’ll send Clyde back to Chicago in a minute.”

“If he has a choice in going back, that is. And what will the neighbors say about a single man renting a room from a widow?”

“When they take a look at him, nobody will think they’re up to no good. Besides, he’s not Italian! Nobody would think she’d consider it.”

“That cinches it, I suppose, but you’re on your own here.”

Shaking his head at the entire idea, Brendan shooed Dominic out of his office, read the several telephone messages that had come in the day before and returned the calls. Next, he grabbed his coat and hat and found Clyde in the bullpen, laboriously typing.

“Time to go,” Brendan said and walked swiftly out to the parking lot, picking up the straggling Clyde curbside.

Amanda was already at the house and was getting background on Mr. Bauer from his widow.

“Growing up, he witnessed all the diseases that were common and untreatable at that time. One of his first jobs when he came to America was working for a pharmacist, and then he took an interest in chemistry and from there formulated his first patented medicine.”

“Oh—that Bauer. I didn’t put it together,” Amanda admitted.

“The ‘B on the Bottle’ slogan for the cough syrup was the most popular and profitable. He sold the business about eight years ago and took up other interests.”

“Can you think of any enemies he might have made?”

Mrs. Bauer smiled ruefully. “It’s unavoidable in business at the level which he operated. He filed a lawsuit for copyright infringement, and people sued him for all sorts of reasons. The corporations’ suits were costly and inconclusive, but the individual cases were heartbreaking. People who were already very sick with something like tuberculosis thought the cough syrup would cure the disease. Of course they had no case, but the families were insistent on suing. I blame greedy lawyers for making false promises.”

“That’s dreadful. Do you think a businessperson or a grieving family member could have done this to your husband?”

“I don’t see how someone could have orchestrated the scenario with the cat and then gained access to the house without being seen.”

“If it isn’t some unknown person, it has to be someone you all do know.”

Mrs. Bauer took a deep breath. “Yes, that has been obvious to me from the beginning. Either that or the nurse made a fatal error. I’m sure that’s why she has been acting so skittish. Avoiding me since I got back.”

“Perhaps she feels guilty that she left her patient alone, even for that short span of time.”

“Let’s move on to the matter of the alleged missing gold,” Mrs. Bauer said. “I’ve already called the bank and you and I can go there tomorrow and see what’s in the safety deposit box.”

“Is there only one? Are there perhaps more at other banks?”

Mrs. Bauer sighed. “I hope not, but I’d better call my attorney.”

“I can do that for you,” Amanda said, taking the cap off her pen, ready to write it down.

“Barnaby Wheeler.”

Amanda’s head jerked up. “He’s one of my father’s law partners.”

“How do you think I got your name in the first place? Go right ahead and let him know what we need. Also, I want to be sure that the last iteration of his will I saw was really the last one.”

“Do you think he might have made some alterations?”

“Herman had some odd notions that with his great wealth he could change the world. Let’s find out if he committed those to paper.”

By that time, Clyde was holed up with Waechter in the foyer, peppering him with questions that the man responded to carefully. Brendan was seated in the study with the daughter, Rosamund, whose moods seemed to shift, depending upon the question posed to her.

“How could I know that the blasted cat would bolt from the house and put this entire tragedy into motion?” she said, her thin hands fussing with her perfectly coiffed hair.

“Perhaps the cat was an intended distraction. Or maybe not.”

“What are you suggesting? That Rosie deliberately let that dreadful animal out?”

“Mrs. Richardson, please. I’m making no such accusation. Did you get along with your father?” Brendan asked. He was entranced by her hazel eyes—not the mixed brown and green that people thought was that color, but truly the light yellowish brown of hazelnuts. She wore very little makeup, which drew attention to them even more.

“Of yes, of course. I was his only child. I moved back here with my daughter after my marriage fell apart.”

“Amicably?”

She hesitated and touched her elaborate hairstyle as if to make sure it was still there. “For me, it was a relief. For him, not so much.”

“Why is that?”

“Oh, really, is that of any importance?”

Brendan met her gaze and she looked away.

“I’m sorry, my nerves are still raw.”

“That’s understandable. But we need to understand the entire family landscape.”

“He wasn’t happy about the split. He didn’t have a job, and his expectation was that my father was somehow going to employ him forever. But Daddy didn’t have the company anymore. He didn’t have employees. He used an attorney and accountant, but what role could Geoffrey possibly perform? My father didn’t need an assistant, and what correspondence he had was my job or my Aunt Libby’s. When my father and Emily married, she still had dealings with her own late husband’s business, so my aunt and I continued our roles. I lived here as I had nowhere else to go. And this house is big enough to accommodate us all!” She smiled broadly at that comment before returning to her more somber self.

“Do you and your stepmother get along?”

“As well as can be expected. She is efficient and level-headed, and Daddy adored her.”

“Did you feel pushed aside?”

“Heavens, I’ve got a six-year-old to look after and, until recently, a sick father.”

“The nurse seemed hesitant to tell me anything about your father’s condition. What was it?” Although he already knew, he wanted to know if she did.

“He had cancer.”

“Some people are still hesitant to use that word,” Brendan said.

“That’s what the morphine was for. Pain management.”

“Did you think the nurse was doing a good job?”

“I suppose so. My father seemed to be comfortable, kept clean and as well-fed as possible under the circumstances.”

“Did you get her from an agency?”

“I didn’t hire her, Emily did. She asked for a referral from the doctor, and he said he could recommend someone with years of experience.”

“Who was his doctor?”

“Fred Browne,” she said, “from Mercy Hospital.” Brendan was glad that he was looking down at his notepad in the event he had shown any signs of recognizing the name. Fred being the doctor had to be just a coincidence, but it surprised him that Boston sometimes seemed like a small town with overlapping circles of relationships.

“Mummy?” asked a small voice from the doorway.

“Rosie—I thought I asked you to stay in your room until I was done.”

“It was too quiet, and I didn’t want to have a nap.” The small girl came into the room and sidled up to her mother, looking up at Brendan with the same hazel eyes.

“Actually, I think we’re done,” he said. Looking at the girl, he asked, “Where is your cat?”

“Yes, dear. Where is he now?”

“In my bedroom. I closed the door behind me. He’s probably hiding under the bed.”

“I heard he likes to play hide-and-seek,” Brendan said. Rosie just stared at him.

“Don’t worry, Christine will be back this evening,” her mother said.

“Who’s that?” Brendan asked.

“She’s the nanny. She been away since Friday visiting her family.”

Someone else to interview, Brendan thought, which sent his mind wondering how Clyde was doing with the butler.

“Thank you, Mrs. Richardson,” he said, getting up. “I’ll just check on my colleague’s whereabouts.”

He went toward the sitting room with a view of the foyer and could see Waechter and Clyde in an animated conversation. Rather than disturb the rapport that was being created, he veered off toward one of the long hallways and was surprised to see Amanda and Mrs. Bauer at the end.

“Mrs. Bauer, Miss Burnside,” he said by way of greeting as he hurried down the hall to catch up.

“There you are,” Mrs. Bauer said. “I don’t suppose you’d like to help us search for the gold,” she said facetiously.

“Do you think that’s just a fable that your late husband invented?”

“I don’t know who made it up, but it sounds absurd. He liked to make things mysterious. And to tease us all by humming the Rhinemaidens’ song from Der Ring des Nibelungen.”

“Ah, a Wagner fan. No harm in his jest, I suppose, unless it means a lot of people wasting their time,” Brendan said.

“Let’s start in the study,” Mrs. Bauer said.

“I’ll leave you to it. I need to check in on my colleague.” He had no intention of assisting in the search. That’s what Amanda was being paid to do.

Brendan went back out to the sitting room. His movements must have caught Waechter’s eye because he became more somber and seemed to be concluding the conversation. The door to

the foyer opened and the butler emerged and nodded his head, Clyde behind him smiling as he wrote in his notebook.

“You’ll never believe this, but he’s originally from Chicago! What a small world, huh?”

“That is a coincidence,” Brendan said and, before he was able to ask what information the butler had provided, Clyde launched into a long description of the orientation of Chicago’s neighborhoods in relation to the lake, including the place where he grew up and Waechter’s own stomping grounds, as he put it.

“We were practically neighbors. Who would have guessed!”

“And what did he have to say about Sunday’s events?”

“Um, he pretty much said what everyone has said so far.”

“Which is?”

“That the cat got out, he joined in the search, they found the cat and came back into the house.”

“That’s all you got?”

Clyde’s face turned pink.

“This butler seems stationed at the front door,” Brendan said. “The front door was ajar when my brother got to the house. How is that possible? They don’t lock their doors here? If all the ruckus was at the back of the house, how did he hear it from the front? Now that you two are old chums, how about finding him again and asking him about who came and went on Sunday?”

“Yes, sir,” Clyde said, looking bewildered about how to start.

“It looks to me as if he went toward the kitchen,” Brendan said, and he felt a headache coming on.

Amanda and Brendan had agreed to meet at the end of the day to share what information they had gathered. They chose a tea shop along Dorchester Avenue and at this hour of the day, they were the only customers,

“You look miserable,” Amanda said as Brendan’s scowling face bent to kiss her on the cheek.

“I don’t know how much more of Clyde Owens I can take. The result of his interview with the butler was finding out they lived in adjacent neighborhoods in Chicago.” He sat down and removed his hat, placing it on a chair.

“And? The significance of that?”

“Exactly. None whatsoever.”

“In spite of the Chief’s intentions in pairing you two up, I think it might be time to report back on how it’s going.”

“I hate doing that, but I may just have to. I’ll have Dominic watch him like a hawk and, if he takes a step wrong, that will add fuel to the fire.”

A waitress came out of the back kitchen to take their order and let them know that the shop would be closing in an hour. They told her what they wanted and when she left, they began their conversation.

“All right, you first,” Brendan said.

“I want to comment on Mrs. Bauer’s demeanor, first. I know her husband was ill for a long time and his death was not unexpected, but she seems rather unaffected by it. Perhaps it’s her nature, but I find it strange.”

“She does come across as matter of fact. That’s not a strike against her, I hope,” Brendan said. “After all, she wasn’t even in town on Sunday. So, she says.” He took his notebook out of a jacket pocket and a pen from another and jotted down a few words. “I’ll have Clyde follow up on where she said she was, how and when she got back home.”

“We spent the time since I last saw you looking through three rooms of the house, with a lovely luncheon to break up the work.”

“I don’t want to know what you had to eat,” he said.

“What do you have against lobster bisque?” she teased.

“I had a ham and cheese sandwich in a local deli with Clyde for company. So don’t rub it in. What did you find?”

“It looks like Mr. Bauer used to travel quite a bit and was an avid stamp collector. I’m afraid we got a bit sidetracked looking through the many folders of foreign stamps. He seemed to have spent a lot of time in Europe, and some of the stamps were still attached to the envelopes from France and Germany.”

“Business correspondence? Were his products sold overseas?”

“I don’t think this was for business. You would think that would be among his business papers. These were on personal stationery—maybe he had a pen pal.”

The waitress brought a pot of black tea and two currant buns on a plate. She glanced at the watch pinned to her apron in a not-too-subtle move to remind them of closing time.

“The cook mentioned that she came from Bavaria, and we know his family was of German origin. I wonder if that’s where he was from, too?”

Amanda shrugged her shoulders and moved the teapot’s handle to pour a cup for Brendan.

“There were photo albums of him with his first wife in all the usual tourist places—Buckingham Palace, Eiffel Tower, and so on. Many albums. And Mrs. Bauer was quiet as we leafed through them.”

“Why did you bother to look through them all?” Brendan asked.

“It wouldn’t have been my choice, but she seemed to want to do it. I certainly wasn’t expecting a little piece of paper with a clue on it to jump out of the pages.”

“Libby said she used the study quite a bit. If there was anything in there of value, whether monetary or giving knowledge of missing gold, she had ample time in recent weeks to scour the place while her brother lay in bed upstairs. I don’t know if she availed herself of any of the books, but there is a substantial collection of the usual classics and books on history, genealogy and kings and queens of various countries. You know, where they all gave their children the same names, so your eyes are crossed trying to figure out who was Edward the Second. And that blasted custom of giving people honorific titles, so you call them Exeter, for example, after their title, not their surname.”

“I think that’s why I never got into that sort of reading. What else did you learn from your search?”

“Mr. Bauer, or his daughter or his sister who helped him, was very organized, so we were able to locate names and addresses of business contacts he retained after he sold the company. There was a lot of paperwork, but nothing that pointed to anything useful. I’ve agreed to search the house further tomorrow. What else did you discover today?”

“There is another person we didn’t know about. A nanny.”

“Where was she on Sunday?”

“Out of state visiting family. That doesn’t mean that she couldn’t have come back early without anyone knowing,” Brendan said.

“The same could be said for Mrs. Bauer, I suppose. But people sneaking back into their own house to commit a murder seems far-fetched. If she was going to inherit from her husband and he was terminally ill, why the need?”

“Have you seen the will? Or are we just working on the assumption that she is the main beneficiary?”

“You may find this an interesting coincidence: her attorney is one of my father’s partners. That’s how she found me in the first place.”

Brendan put down his cup. “I’ve got a better one for you. Mr. Bauer’s physician is none other than Fred Browne. Am I imaging there are too many coincidences, or do we rely on the old saw about Boston being a small town?”

Chapter 10

Amanda woke the next morning with a feeling of dread at the notion of combing through every inch of every room in the Bauer house. It wasn’t because she felt it wasn’t necessary; rather, she was sure they were not going to find anything of use. She also wondered how the daughter would feel about it since she hadn’t had much interaction with her to date and Amanda’s connection to Mrs. Bauer set her up in a potentially adversarial position.

Louisa came down the stairs still in her robe and announced to the family in the dining room, “I’m working from home today.”

“Do they allow such things at Monsieur Josef’s?” her father asked.

“I’m trying it out for one day a week.”

“That’s interesting,” Amanda said. “Just so you can lounge in your robe all day?”

“The salon is sometimes so busy with interruptions and the chatter of girls that I can’t think.”

“I thought the seamstresses were a rather quiet bunch when I visited,” Amanda said.

“They are. It’s the two new models who, instead of hanging around in the dressing room, wander through the building to see what’s going on. I never heard of such a thing,” Louisa said.

“Employees wandering around? Most unusual,” Mr. Burnside said. “Maybe they are spies for a rival couture house.”

“Besides, I’m cooking up a scheme,” Louisa said.

“Uh-oh,” Amanda commented.

“Girls,” their mother said.

“I’m putting on a fashion show.”

“I thought that’s what you do at work,” her father said.

“Not at Monsieur Josef’s. This is going to be at the Oasis, by invitation only. There will be food and beverages.”

Mr. Burnside raised his eyebrows at the last word.

“We’ve got a roster of styles on models who will walk through the audience so that the men and their wives can see the fabrics and workmanship up close. There will be order slips at each table so people can mark off what they’d like to buy. Doesn’t it sound like fun?”

“It sounds expensive,” Mr. Burnside grumbled.

“Oh, no. It sounds lovely. You’ll see people we know and meet new folks as well, I imagine,” Louisa said.

“And you’ll get to see the Oasis. It’s quite stunning,” Amanda added.

“I can’t wait,” said her mother in a strange tone. “I suppose that means we’re invited.”

Just at that moment the door to the breakfast room was pushed open and Cromwell appeared, wagging his tail at the man of the family.

“Oh, Edward. I know he’s a lovely dog, but we can’t have him begging at the table,” Mrs. Burnside said.

“He’s not begging,” he replied.

“Yet,” Louisa muttered.

“There, sit now. Sit.” Cromwell obeyed and continued to look at Mr. Burnside. “See, he has been well trained.

“If only husbands came that way,” Mrs. Burnside said. Everyone laughed.

“What are you up to today, Amanda?” her father asked.

“My client and I will be speaking to her attorney today, and then the treasure hunt begins.”

“What’s that about?” Louisa asked.

“My lips are sealed.”

Amanda used the telephone in her father’s study to call Mrs. Bauer.

“I expected to see you today,” Mrs. Bauer said when she answered the call.

“You will. I thought it made better sense for us to meet at Mr. Wheeler’s office rather than me driving to Dorchester and then back downtown. Afterward we can make the bank visits about the safety deposit boxes. I thought it would be more efficient to check there first before tackling every room of the house.”

Agreeing that it was a good plan, Mrs. Bauer decided when to meet, which gave Amanda a little more time at home that she decided to use to take Cromwell for a walk. Getting his leash by the back door provoked a blast of tail wagging, making it difficult to attach the lead. But he did sit for that, another indication of good training. They set off into the alley behind the houses, with Amanda keeping in mind not to go near his former owner’s house. Even with her intention in mind, he set off at a purposeful pace and before she could stop him, he had led her to the Daugherty home, where his owner once lived, and he began to whine.

“Poor Crom, let’s keep going,” she said as she almost dragged him away. His reaction recalled the contrast of Mrs. Bauer’s businesslike demeanor in dealing with her husband’s death. Had the strength of the Bauers’ bond weakened over the years? Or had it been a marriage of convenience from the beginning? She checked her wristwatch and quickened her pace to make it back home and then downtown.

Amanda got to her father’s firm before Mrs. Bauer and, rather than go to her own small office to wait, stayed in the waiting room and chatted with the receptionist between incoming telephone calls. Finally, her client arrived, and she asked the receptionist to let Mr. Wheeler know they were ready for their meeting.

While she took the lead by escorting her to the man’s office, she deferred and allowed Mrs. Bauer to enter first. The attorney gave his condolences, nodded to Amanda and invited them both to be seated.

“I’ve been your late husband’s counsel for a long time. It began with some business issues and then we would see each other at our club.” Mr. Wheeler had snow white hair that he wore in a popular 1920s style of a middle part, making him look like a prematurely aged collegiate.

“Yes, the men’s hideaway,” Mrs. Bauer said.

“Hardly that,” he said with a small chuckle. Then he cleared his throat, suggesting they were about to embark on the business part of the meeting.

Before he could begin, Mrs. Bauer spoke up. “Herman said more than once that he intended to update his will, but I have a strong suspicion that he never did.” She cocked her head to one side, waiting for his answer.

“You are correct on that account. He revised his will after the death of his first wife but made no changes after that. I know he updated the deed to the house to include you. Unless there is a holographic will in your possession that is more recent, we’ve only got the old one.”

“Not to my knowledge,” she said. “Although we may come across one in our search of the house. No matter, I’m sure he included Rosamund and that’s important.”

“Yes, he did. And a number of smaller allocations to various charitable organizations.”

“Good for him. As we move into probate, I’ll exercise my right to an elective share.”

“That makes sense,” Wheeler said.

Amanda tried not to react, but she must have given some signal that she didn’t understand what was going on.

Wheeler explained, “If the spouse is not mentioned, he or she can request one third of the estate. This is based on English law where a widow automatically got her widow’s share. One third.”

“So, it is important that we locate the entirety of the estate,” Mrs. Bauer said. “I know what there is in the accounts at the bank we use, and despite his distrust of the stock market, there were investments there. I’ll have to check on this, and there was commercial property that generated rental income. But I know that somewhere there is quite a lot more. And we intend to find it. Is there a copy of the will that I could have to share with Rosamund?”

“Certainly. I can have my secretary send it to you.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Wheeler. I’ll be in touch.” Mrs. Bauer got up and shook his hand and led the way out of the room.

“Would you like to see my office?” Amanda asked. She had the feeling that Mrs. Bauer’s lack of reaction to the news about the will might result in a delayed response and it should happen away from prying eyes.

But she turned out to have misread the woman yet again. Mrs. Bauer was her usual self and took in the small room with a smile as she sat across from Amanda’s desk.

“Isn’t it wonderful to be independent?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

“I’m not quite there yet, but, yes, it does feel good to make a start in that direction.”

“You exude confidence and that’s important no matter what your profession. The other thing to develop is resilience. When something awful happens, take in what lessons it offers and move on.” She paused. “I have a feeling that you think I should be visibly grieving more, but it has always been in my nature to be even-keeled. Many men are put off by it or puzzled, but Herman saw it as an asset, knowing that I would not be swamped by the drama of the Bauer family.”

Amanda said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.

“The real issue is the tension between Libby and Rosamund. Each was vying for my husband’s full attention and, frankly, his financial support. Libby had never married and depended upon her brother entirely. In exchange, she sometimes acted as his personal assistant. That worked fine when he was first widowed, but when I married him, she anticipated that I would push her out of the way. I had no such intention. I had my own late husband’s business and financial interests to tend to. Once I sat down with her and explained I did not want to get between them, it cleared the air. Almost at the same time, Rosamund and her husband decided to separate. And since he was struggling financially, naturally Herman stepped in and moved his daughter and granddaughter back here. Rosamund probably never imagined that she would be divorced—although that hasn’t officially happened yet—but her status as a single woman is something she’s not looking forward to. Both women are probably wondering what is to become of them.”

“What will become of them?” Amanda asked.

“At least I’m on the title to the house so I’ll allow them to stay as long as they wish and support them to the same level as my husband did.”

“That’s very generous.”

“They may not act like it, but they are still family. After I die, who knows?” She managed a smile.

Amanda returned the smile and then remembered her task. “I’ve made a list of the banks in town with safety deposit boxes, and it seems that if you have any keys, we’ll have access. Did your husband happen to label them?”

Mrs. Bauer reached into her handbag and took out a key and held it in the air.

“I found only one. ‘BOB’ for First National Bank of Boston, I’m guessing.”

“That narrows things down. I had the idea that we would have to go to the head branch of every bank and see if there was a rented box,” Amanda said.

“We’re close enough to First National that we can walk, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Amanda said, glad to be out on a sunny, if chilly, day.

As they walked along, Mrs. Bauer tucked her arm in Amanda’s. “Part of the reason for the Crash was depositors closing their accounts by requesting gold rather than dollars.”

“Is that what your husband did?”

“Yes, he got tipped by someone with connections to the Vatican that an economic disaster was about to happen. I know that sounds like fiction, but he listened to his colleague and that saved his bacon. At that time, deposits were only guaranteed by the bank’s reputation and, if there was a run on the bank, you could lose everything. Since then, there has been legislation that protects accounts up to a certain amount.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“The money people don’t like President Roosevelt, but he certainly has put in protections for people at a lower standard of living to ensure they don’t lose everything again.”

They reached the building that sat on a busy corner and loomed over those two intersecting streets. Like all bank buildings in major cities, this one was constructed to impress the public of its solidity and longevity by the marble floors, two-story-high columns and light pouring in from oversized windows. They made their way across the vast space to the men seated at desks along one wall separated by a low railing. A receptionist, just inside the gated entrance, noted the two elegantly dressed women and let them in, gesturing to several chairs.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked in an accent that she may have picked up from some Hollywood movie.

Mrs. Bauer gave her name and the purpose of her visit, and the receptionist went to one of the men and explained their request. He in turn came forward, introduced himself and bade them wait while he got the guard key.

“What’s that?” Amanda whispered.

“You rent the box from the bank, but they are not allowed to open it by themselves. Once I produce my key and he the guard key, the space where the box is kept is unlocked. He’ll leave us in privacy to open the box inside.”

“What are you expecting to find?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a bit like a treasure hunt.”

They followed the man to the back of the bank’s first floor and then descended the stairs to the basement, past two huge vaults and finally into a room lined in numbered boxes.

“Here we go,” he said, and he put his key in one of the boxes as Mrs. Bauer inserted hers and they unlocked the outer box. “May I?” he asked, and getting a nod from the older woman, pulled the inner, red box out by its handle and placed it on a long table in the middle of the room. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me to replace the box.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Mrs. Bauer said, having noted that, although the box was metal, the man lifted it easily.

He nodded and left. She waited until she could hear his footsteps recede upward before removing her gloves and opening the box. To provide her privacy, Amanda stood aside.

“Well, no fortune in gold here. His passport and mine, the deed to the house and birth certificates. Our marriage license—I was wondering where that was, and look, a gold watch.”

She picked up the thin watch with its attached chain, pushed the tiny latch and opened it, revealing the initials FGB inside.

“His father’s watch. I didn’t take him for a sentimental man,” she said. That was the extent of the contents except for a small velvet pouch. Pulling the strings apart, she emptied the contents into her hand. It was a solitary gold coin.

Amanda said, “That can’t be all there is. Maybe the myth of the gold is true.”

Mrs. Bauer looked back and said, “If so, where is the rest of it?”

While the women were in the basement of the bank, Brendan was making his way to the upper floors of Mercy Hospital to meet with Fred Browne. Since Amanda had dated but turned down Fred’s proposal and then started seeing Brendan, there was a frosty atmosphere when the two encountered each other. That day was no exception as Doctor Browne, seated behind a desk but still wearing a lab coat, looked up in a slightly peeved manner at the interruption by the detective. He said nothing and left it to Brendan to begin the conversation.

“Doctor Browne, I’m glad I caught you.”

“I’m going on rotation shortly,” he responded, looking down at folders on his desktop.

“It won’t take long. May I sit down?” Brendan asked, still wearing his overcoat but with his hat in his hand.

“Very well.” Fred looked down at the folders and tilted them to review the names.

“A patient of yours died recently,” Brendan said, without any accusation.

It caught the doctor’s attention.

“Mr. Bauer.”

“Yes, I was informed. He had been a very sick man.”

“May I ask what the illness was?”

“Lung cancer.”

“And did you prescribe medication?”

“I operated on him several times, but in the past year I could see that further surgical intervention would not prolong his life. I prescribed morphine. His was a painful condition and there was no need to have him suffer needlessly,” Fred said.

“Did the Medical Examiner tell you the cause of death?”

Fred picked up a small stack of messages and leafed through them. “I see that he called me on Monday. I’m afraid I haven’t got back to him yet.” He reached for the telephone.

“Obviously, you’re free to call him, but I can tell you the long and short of it.” Fred retracted his hand from the phone. “The doctor found signs of the cancer’s damage but also determined that he had been given a substantial amount of morphine. A lethal dose.”

“Wasn’t there a nurse in attendance? I can’t remember her name.”

“Schultz,” said Brendan.

“I can’t imagine her making a mistake like that.”

“She probably didn’t. There was an event at the house, and everybody ran outside, leaving Mr. Bauer alone. Somebody administered the fatal dose and dropped the syringe on the carpet. A trained nurse would certainly not do that and jeopardize her license. The Medical Examiner also said that the injection was crudely done, so again, unless we have a particularly nefarious nurse on our hands who could be in two places at once, fake a clumsy injection and intentionally drop the needle, we’re looking at someone else.”

Chapter 11

Having forfeited a meal with Mrs. Bauer, Amanda walked to Valerie’s father’s club for the monthly X-D luncheon. That was the clever name one of the former debutantes had come up with to memorialize their former connection, which was growing more tenuous as the young women got married or moved away. Amanda was one of the two with a paying job, the other being Marnie, who modeled clothes at Monsieur Josef’s and liked to think of her work as a glamorous hobby. Despite almost everyone’s continuing to experience the financial effects of the market crash, there was still a bit of a stigma about girls of certain social strata working. It was mostly the notion of keeping up appearances, but there was also an underlying fear that once she became a career girl, that was the end of her marriage prospects. Amanda was glad that it hadn’t made a dent in her availability and that she also had an income that she was earning independently.

Most of the girls were already there and they called out merrily to her when she came in. There was the usual cloud of smoke hovering above Cecile as she took the cigarette holder out of her mouth to wave hello. Someone had fashioned a paper crown that Valerie wore in honor of her role as hostess and acknowledging her upcoming wedding. She looked like a bride-to-be—alternately giddy or strangely calm. And thinner.

“Val darling, what is it about an upcoming marriage that makes the bride lose weight? At this rate, you’ll be eligible to accompany me at the salon to model,” Marnie said.

“Fred would never allow that,” she answered with a smile.

Cecile raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

Patricia was the last one to enter and heads turned at her outfit.

“What in the world is that?” Gayle asked, then clapped her hand over her mouth for having said what everyone else was thinking.

Patricia twirled, allowing her skirt to balloon out. “It’s a dirndl, silly. My father just got back from a trip to Europe and brought this home for me. It’s wool and ever so warm. I’m wearing the traditional blouse, too, but I adamantly refuse to put on the apron.”

“Maybe your father thought you might take up housekeeping,” Betsy said with a smile.

“Very funny. It’s just traditional. Anyway, I like it.”

“Did he bring you wooden shoes as well?”

“Don’t be a dunce. That’s Dutch. He got this in Germany. It’s a traditional costume of the countryside. He said women in Berlin are just as up to date as we are in fashion. And drinking and smoking, too. Well, all except a new group of politicians who are looking to get back to the old values.”

“Then you’ll fit right in!” Betsy said.

Patricia wrinkled her nose at her friend, indicating she didn’t think that was very funny, either. “We have to think about ourselves as global citizens, not just Americans.”

“The last time we did that, a lot of men lost their lives,” Cecile said.

“That was the Great War. There won’t be another. My father said that Berlin and the rest of Germany has rebuilt itself since then. Very modern thinkers. Nobody wants to interfere with progress.”

The servers came in with the plated salads that the chef thought all young ladies would prefer at lunch time. Amanda thought back fondly to the hearty lentil soup at Catalano’s she would have preferred.

A few of the girls looked bored with the talk of politics and Gayle changed the subject.

“So, Valerie, what’s the latest on the wedding plans?”

Their hostess sighed. “I was under the impression that the bride’s family didn’t just pay for the wedding, but also had priority in planning it.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Cecile asked.

“I hope what I say will be kept in this room.” She hesitated for a few moments.

“Out with it,” Gayle said. “Mother-in-law problems?”

That got a laugh, as mother-in-law jokes always did.

“It’s not funny. The woman is by turns overbearing, ridiculous, bizarre and I can’t stand it!”

“She’s an author, after all,” Amanda said as if that explained everything.

“No, she’s not. She’s a writer who pumps out historical romance books with a lot of bedroom scenes.”

“Fred’s mother?” Marnie asked incredulously before bursting into laughter.

“It’s not funny. He is very embarrassed by it. Although it does help pay the bills.” Valerie bit her lip, trying not to say more. “She thinks she’s very famous and puts on airs. Dramatic, emotional outbursts.” She stabbed a chunk of tomato with her fork.

“Is it true that you’re moving in with them?”

“Yes,” she said. “And his sister and her husband live there, too.”

“Cozy,” Patricia said.

They ate in silence for a few moments.

“And I’m sorry to tell you that my parents have asked me to limit the guest list. We won’t be doing any ‘plus ones’.”

There was a chorus of exasperated sighs around the room. Nobody wanted to go as a single woman to a wedding and get stuck next to some old bore.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Amanda said. She had been looking forward to bringing Brendan and now it was going to be a long reception with the same familiar faces. As she thought of her future mother-in-law, Mrs. Halloran, she could not imagine a more generous and warmer person. As she put her fork into the salad, she glanced at her watch and considered leaving early to get back to the Bauer house. After another twenty minutes of chatter, she got up and went to Valerie to excuse herself.

“I’ve got to get back to work. Thank you so much for the luncheon. It was delightful.”

“Oh, let me walk you out,” Valerie said.

“No need,” Amanda replied, but Valerie insisted.

When they left the room, she put her hand on Amanda’s arm. “I’m sorry about the ‘plus one’ business. It’s not about cost. Frankly, it’s about Louisa.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s seeing that nightclub owner, and my mother would be horrified to know that someone like that could be in attendance.”

Amanda laughed. “You can’t be serious! Don’t you know that Fred’s brother-in-law is the not-so-silent partner in the Oasis nightclub?”

By the look on Valerie’s face, it was clear she did not.

Amanda turned to leave and wondered if the no ‘plus one’ decision was also because she would have brought Brendan, an Irish American policeman.

Brendan was back at the Bauer house, this time to talk to the nanny, whose existence was only recently made known to him. He left Clyde at the station to sort through the paperwork—something that he used to attend to himself when he worked with Dominic—so there may have been some glimmer of usefulness to the man. He didn’t seem to mind whatever task he was set to do, and he tackled it with enthusiasm, if not tact. Typing up case notes was an innocuous assignment. What could go wrong?

Waechter admitted him with his usual lack of expression, assumed he was there to see Mrs. Bauer and explained that she was still out.

“Actually, I’m here to talk to the nanny.”

“Would you like to speak with her in the sitting room, the study or the morning room?”

“I think the morning room would be best.”

“Yes, sir,” was the answer.

Brendan had begun to know his way around and went to that sunny room, took off his hat and overcoat and stood by the window admiring the landscaping. After a few minutes, he heard muted footsteps on the carpet and then the butler ushered in a young woman, looking barely out of her teens, with chestnut hair, freckles and an expectant face.

“Hello,” she said. “Christine Goodman.”

“Brendan Halloran. Please, take a seat.”

She sat and smoothed her wool skirt and looked at him expectantly.

“I didn’t know of your existence until yesterday,” he said.

“Well, I wasn’t here. It’s so terrible about Mr. Bauer. I knew he was ill, but from what I’ve heard, that’s not what happened.”

“I guess word travels fast in this household. No, that’s apparently not what happened. Where were you this weekend?”

“Visiting my parents. I usually work, eat and sleep here. They gave me a room, which is wonderful; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to do the job, rents being high as they are in Boston.”

“The other staff also sleep in?” He didn’t know why he hadn’t asked that question previously.

“All except for the nurse. She has a cot here and has been staying over most nights recently because Mr. Bauer had been failing. But Miss Bauer would spell her during the day.”

“His sister?”

“Yes. Very devoted to him, she was.”

“Where do your parents live?”

“Ossining, New York. I took the train there on Saturday and was due back yesterday. I didn’t know of the death until Waechter told me. Nobody called to tell me. Poor Rosie was very upset. She and her grandfather were close. Partners in crime, we used to say of them. He evidently had been strict with his own daughter, Mrs. Richardson, or so she says, and he was totally indulgent with Rosie. It was charming to see.”

“Grandparents can be like that,” Brendan said. “How did you happen to get this job?”

“Mr. Bauer reached out to me, knowing that I might need assistance.”

“Why is that?”

“Our family knew his and I guess he thought he’d be helping out by employing me.”

Brendan paused, wondering what the relationship was, then asked, “If you could provide me with the details of your trip, departure and arrival.”

“Certainly. I’ve saved my tickets. Here they are.” She handed over two grubby, punched tickets to Pennsylvania Station and the other back to Boston. “I don’t know why I did.”

Everything was too smooth about this girl, and Brendan thought there could be a very good reason why she had done that. Why would she go to the trouble to save the tickets if that was all the traveling she had done over the long weekend? Unless there was a secret round trip in between.

Chapter 12

Christine excused herself with a sad smile, saying she had to get back to work again. He remained seated and remembered that old saw about ‘trusting your gut.’ Something was off about her, and he continued to look out the windows at the landscape, trying to puzzle out what possible motive she could have had. After coming to no conclusions, he decided he would leave for the day and made his way to the sitting room. A tall man with slicked back hair and a pencil moustache in the room smoking a cigarette turned at his entrance.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

“I could ask the same of you,” Brendan replied with a smile.

They stared at each other a moment before Brendan stepped forward and put out his hand. “Sergeant Halloran. Boston City Police.”

The other man hesitated a moment before putting out his hand. “Geoffrey Richardson. I heard about my father-in-law and wanted to make sure Rosamund and Rosie were all right.”

“Do you live in Boston?”

“No, New York. I didn’t get the news until Monday and had to wrap up some business before coming here.”

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” Brendan said, gesturing to one of the chairs in order that the other man be seated.

“I suppose.” It was only when he bent to put out his cigarette that Brendan noticed a suitcase behind him with an overcoat and hat draped over. The man looked up and gave a wry smile, seeing that Brendan had noticed the luggage.

“Although I never lived here, Libby was kind enough to offer me a place to stay.”

“How well did you know Mr. Bauer?”

“Quite well. I worked for him at one point until he sold the company and the new owners decided to clean house. He was sharp, didn’t miss a thing and was excellent at predicting how the markets might move.”

“That’s what I heard from someone else.”

“There’s even a crazy rumor that he cashed out before the Crash. It was a story he alluded to more than once and he even went so far one Christmas as to put a small gold coin in everyone’s stocking.”

“A man who liked to be mysterious?”

“Yes, but he also thought it was funny.” Richardson shrugged.

“Since you know of his business dealings, can you think of anyone who would want to do him harm?”

Richardson laughed. “When I said he was sharp, that word has another meaning. As in keep your eyes open all the time. Many may have felt he took advantage of them, but with enough resentment to kill him, I couldn’t say. He had been out of the business world for more than a few years. That would be a long time to hold a grudge or to act on it.”

“I’ve known of people who wait almost a lifetime until something sets them off.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Richardson said, taking a cigarette case out of his breast pocket and offering it to Brendan, who declined. “I’m not that kind of person. Let bygones be bygones is my motto.”

He didn’t get a chance to light his cigarette as a voice came from the stairway, “Daddee!” Rosie flew down the stairs, and he stood to pick her up.

“Oof, you’re getting too big for me to do that!”

Rosamund had followed her daughter more slowly down the stairs and her expression was flat. “So, you’ve come for the funeral.”

“Yes, Roz. Libby called and told me and offered me a place here for a few days.”

“We’re happy families here, Sergeant,” Rosamund said.

“You haven’t seen Moritz yet,” Rosie said.

“Who or what is a Moritz?” Richardson asked in a teasing tone.

“Don’t be silly. That’s the name I gave to the cat you gave me. Actually, Grandpa thought up the name and it seems to fit him.”

“The cat that was the cause of all the trouble,” Rosamund said.

“Surely not the cause. A coincidence,” Richardson said. “According to Libby.”

“Lots of coincidences here,” she said.

This was one conversation that Brendan didn’t intend to listen to, but before he excused himself, he asked if he could speak to the nurse.

“She’s not here anymore. She went back to her own home.”

“Do you have the address?”

“Libby does. I’ll have her call you with that information,” Rosamund said.

On the drive back to the station he thought he would ask Dominic to join him in a thinking session to sort out who to talk to next.

“How’s the paperwork coming along?” he asked Clyde when he stepped into the bullpen.

“Pretty good,” was the response from the man who still looked like a raccoon.

“Dominic, can you come into my office for a moment?”

“Sure thing,” the other detective said.

Brendan sat down in his chair with a sigh and Dominic looked him over.

“You all right, Boss?”

“Of course. How is Clyde getting along with the other guys?”

“They seem to think he is a temp, so they don’t pay any attention to him.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Here’s the good news. When I pitched the idea that he rent a room from my sister, he was really pleased.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re his new best pal.”

“I can’t wait to hear what pranks those devil twins will play on him.”

“I know they’re twins and nine years old, but I didn’t know they got into mischief. So, it’s true then that every cop has a delinquent in the family. Or was one himself.”

“Hardly that. One of them is into magic and card tricks. Harmless. The other one discovered the Whoopee cushion last Christmas. His great-uncle gave it to him, mostly to annoy Anna. Shortly after the holidays it was confiscated by the Principal and a furious nun who didn’t get the joke. Mercifully, he did not put it on Sister Francis’ chair, just his best buddy’s. All the same, that was the end of it until he saved enough money to get another. A valuable lesson was learned: be careful where you employ your tricks.”

“My guess is that if Clyde accepts the offer, he is setting himself up to be a victim,” Brendan said.

“That was the intent, wasn’t it?” Dominic asked.

“Back to business now. You can’t believe how many people are in that house. The dead man’s wife, his sister, his daughter and granddaughter, a nurse, a cook, a maid, a butler and I’ve just found out there’s a nanny who happened to be away on the long weekend. And now a soon-to-be ex-husband pops up.”

“What’s the nanny got to do with it?”

“I was thinking that any one of the group that was out chasing down the cat could have come back into the house. But now we got the nanny who could have made a clandestine return.”

“Same goes for the widow.”

“And a Mr. Richardson who lives in New York and just found out about the death on Monday. So he says. What if he came up to Boston secretly and waited for an opportunity to kill the old man?”

“With what motive?” Dominic asked.

“He and Rosamund are separated, not divorced. What if he assumes that she will get a hefty bequest and he, as the spouse, gets a portion of it?”

“Is that the estate law in Massachusetts?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Amanda’s father for clarification. Even if he doesn’t stand to inherit by virtue of being the son-in-law, he might decide to initiate a reconciliation for that purpose. He obviously has a solid relationship with his young daughter, although Rosamund seems still to be angry at him. You know that is only one step for capitulating entirely.”

Dominic looked surprised. “Really? Is that how it works?”

“Enemies to lovers, is the term.”

“I’d better watch out for any woman who doesn’t like me, then. That’s a scary observation. Where did you hear such a thing?”

“A psychology class I took in college. Human beings are strange creatures.” Brendan looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet Amanda for a debriefing. She was with Mrs. Bauer all day looking for hidden gold!” Brendan said, twirling an imaginary moustache.

“No kidding? Where do you stash gold? And once you find it, can you walk into a tavern and buy a drink with a gold coin?”

“Excellent questions.”

The telephone rang and Brendan gave a look of annoyance before breaking into a wide smile when he heard Amanda’s voice on the other end of the line.

“I’m thinking that you forgot about our engagement today.”Brendan’s face fell, and his mind went blank. “Er…”

“Louisa’s fashion show at the Oasis?”

“That’s today?”

“Three-thirty.”

“Got it. I’ll pick you up at three.”

Dominic was following only one half of the conversation and looked puzzled.

After hanging up, Brendan explained. “Family unity. The sister, Louisa, designs for Monsieur Josef’s salon.”

Dominic rolled his eyes at the name. “Filene’s isn’t good enough?”

“And as you know, Louisa’s boyfriend is Rob Worley, part owner of the Oasis nightclub. Killing two birds with one stone, she arranged a ladies’—and husbands’—event at the Oasis where models display the designs and hopefully the husbands pull out the checkbook and order something. Hors d’oeuvres are served to stave off hunger and drinks to loosen the purse strings.

If things go according to plan, the women get some new frocks, and the couples are exposed to the glamor of the Oasis and are likely to be return customers. Monsieur Josef wins, Rob Worley wins, and everyone goes home happy.”

“Shooting fish in a barrel.”

“Let me get some work done before the big do.”

“Do you have to change into formal clothes?” Dominic asked.

“My good man, you have much to learn,” Brendan said in a snooty voice and waved him away.

Chapter 13

As they drove away from the Burnside home, Amanda asked Brendan what he had discovered that day and he related the presence of the soon-to-be ex-husband.

“What’s he like?”

“Very debonair. Also, somewhat condescending. What’s the matter with these people? Acting like royalty because they are associated with a wealthy family.”

“If I’m not mistaken, he doesn’t have a dime of his own. At least, that’s what Mrs. Bauer told me. She wasn’t being mean about it, just matter of fact. She’s a very direct woman about many things.”

“I wonder if he’s come back to sniff out what’s coming his way,” Brendan said. “He said he had worked for the old man before the company was sold. I’m sure losing the job and the wife were not happy events emotionally or financially.”

“What does he do now?”

“I’ll be going back tomorrow to chat with him a bit more. Maybe I’ll get a better idea of who Mr. Bauer was as a boss, a father-in-law, a person.”

“Changing topics for a moment, you do know that the dual purpose of this event this afternoon is to acquaint new people with the existence of the Oasis and to take orders on dresses for Monsieur Josef.”

After a few moments of silence, Brendan turned to her, searching her face. “Since I’m already familiar with the Oasis, what are you suggesting?”

Her face all innocence, Amanda responded. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I thought young ladies of good breeding never accepted gifts from gentlemen. Surely nothing as intimate as clothing.”

“That’s an old-fashioned notion. Very out of date.”

“Perhaps they’ll have some dainty embroidered handkerchiefs for sale. Will that be appropriate?”

Amanda gave him a look and shook her head. “Nice try.”

They were momentarily stopped in heavy traffic as they approached the club.

“Just look at that!” Amanda said, noticing that there was a line of cars waiting to get into the parking lot of the club.

One of the doormen, dressed in a faux Arabian costume with harem trousers, spangled vest and turban, was sprinting from the front entrance to the first car in the queue to open the passenger door for the woman, then moving to the driver’s side to get the car keys from the husband.

“At this rate, we’ll be here all night. Can’t we bypass the doormen? I can park perfectly well on my own.”

“And deny them a tip?”

Brendan huffed and stayed put in their place in line. It turned out to be a shorter wait than expected when several waiters were enlisted to assist. Amanda was scrutinizing the guests and commenting to Brendan on the company.

“Oh, look, there’s Mother and Daddy!” She put her head out the window and waved. “It’s the first time they’ve been here. “Oh, my gosh—what a turnout!”

Finally inside, they found the Burnsides and sat at one of the little round tables that gave the place its intimate atmosphere. When they sat down, Amanda said, “And there’s Fred and Valerie.” She waved at them across the room. Her friend waved back enthusiastically, her fiancé less so.

“This is charming,” Mr. Burnside said, looking around at the murals of sand dunes and camels, the potted palms and the soft music from a piano at the far end. “It’s nothing like I imagined. It’s almost like my club.”

“What did you imagine? A dark tavern with surly men hunched over a bar?” Amanda asked.

“Things in the liquor industry have taken a more sophisticated turn, I guess,” Mr. Burnside said. “There are taverns, men’s clubs and now these modern nightclubs. Mr. Worley seems to be doing very well for himself.” He looked around the room appreciatively.

“Louisa told me that Rob has expanded the business by encouraging various clubs and groups that don’t have a permanent home to rent out the rooms to the back here and upstairs for gatherings,” Amanda said.

“Very enterprising,” her father commented, nodding.

“There’s Louisa!” Mrs. Burnside said, spotting her younger daughter and waving but not catching the attention of her daughter, who was scanning the crowd before disappearing backstage.

“She’s busy, Mother,” Amanda said to her parent, who seemed disappointed in not being recognized.

“Young crowd, don’t you think?” her father asked, looking around the room.

“They were pitching the concept to Monsieur Josef’s customers as well as Rob’s, who are younger. It will be interesting to see how that goes. I remember recently he was not enjoying the young professional men who came in, usually stag, since single women don’t go to a club on their own.” She wondered for a moment if the concept of a women’s night only would be profitable.

“Of course not,” Mrs. Burnside said, horrified at the idea.

People were still coming into the club, checking their coats at the front and looking for tables that would have the best view of the front, although Amanda knew that the models would be walking through the audience so the salon’s handiwork could be admired more closely. Each table also had paper checklists with Monsieur Josef’s logo at the top, a number assigned to each design and space at the bottom for the guest’s name and contact information for making an order.

“Very well thought out,” Mr. Burnside commented.

“I told you Louisa had it in her,” his wife said.

The music continued while waiters placed a plate of hors d’oeuvres at each table and took orders for beverages. Wisely, Rob had decided not to offer a glass of champagne but allowed each guest to order—and pay for—their beverage of choice. There was chatter at each table and between tables as couples recognized one another, and the space filled up nicely.

Amanda looked over to the staircase at the back of the room that led to the second floor and could see that some group that had been meeting was breaking up. It was mostly men with some women interspersed and they looked very serious and almost taken aback by the frivolity of the first-floor guests.

The waiter returned with their drinks and Amanda said, “You all are very busy. Who are those folks?”

“The German club. Strictly beer drinkers,” he said with a smirk.

She looked back at the line of stern faces descending the stairs and recognized one. “Isn’t that the Bauers’ maid?” she said to Brendan.

He turned and looked and, at the same moment, the woman realized she had been recognized and began to push herself in front of others to get to the bottom of the stairwell more quickly.

“Why does it look as if she is trying to evade us?” Amanda asked.

“Because she is,” Brendan said, getting up from the table. Amanda was right behind him.

“Where are you two going?” her father asked, but they were already halfway across the room as they tried to weave their way through the crowd, keeping an eye on the maid as they did so. She was faster, pushing her way through the incoming guests and getting to the door before them.

“Hurry,” Brendan said, deciding not to take time to retrieve their coats as they burst through the double doors of the entrance. They paused and, looking both ways, saw the woman hurrying down the street to their left; they walked swiftly behind. She only looked around once to see if she was being followed. She kept up a steady pace toward the main street ahead and was able to cross before Amanda and Brendan reached the curb and the light turned red.

They stood impatiently waiting for the light to change, the traffic too heavy to try to dodge across the road, and watched the retreating figure, still moving swiftly away.

“How does she make those little legs move so fast?” Amanda asked.

They shifted from foot to foot, anxious to get going, and when the light changed, Brendan surged ahead.

“Keep up,” he called back to Amanda who, with her two-inch heels and narrow skirt, couldn’t take as long a stride as he.

They could see their target, who had slowed down a bit, reach the next intersection. She turned around and, seeing them still in pursuit, dashed across the street, causing a car to slam on its brakes. Undeterred, she hurried on, with Brendan and Amanda increasing their pace to keep up.

They were approaching the retail district, with more pedestrians on the sidewalk, many of them walking less purposefully as they stopped to look in store windows. Ingrid wove her way around the people and disappeared around the corner where Gilchrist’s was located.

When Brendan rounded the corner, he maneuvered his way through the crowds and went almost half a block before realizing he had lost her. He turned and saw Amanda lagging behind while calling out to him and pointing to the revolving front doors of the store. She popped in and he jogged to catch up to her. Both out of breath, they stood several feet inside the huge building with its ornate interior and tried to make sense of where she might have gone in the crowded space.

“Elevator?” Brendan asked.

“Ha!” Amanda said. “She’s circling around to the side entrance.”

“Which one?” Brendan asked, not as familiar with the popular shopping venues of Boston as Amanda.

“When people are being pursued, do they normally go left or right?” she asked.

“I have no idea!”

“And you call yourself a detective,” she said. “She’s gone to the left exit back out onto the street where we last saw her.” Saying that, she led the way to those doors and once outside, looked left and right and saw Ingrid walking briskly back from the direction they had originally come. With so many more people on the street, she must have felt out of danger because she slowed her pace a bit as she moved along, then made a right at the intersection. They followed her for two blocks to the beginning of a residential area with apartment buildings and, with one last look behind her, she went into the lobby of one.

“She didn’t see us,” Amanda said, somewhat out of breath. “But let’s hurry or we won’t know where she’s gone.”

It wasn’t a very upscale location as there was no doorman or keyed entry into the lobby. They faced two elevators and watched as one descended and the other went up to the third floor before stopping.

“Bingo,” Brendan said.

They waited for the downward elevator to let a woman with a toddler in a buggy out before going in and pushing the button for the third floor.

“Why do these things take so long?” Amanda asked, not expecting an answer.

“Watched pot,” was his response. He smiled as he said it and they realized they were both sweating from the exertion of the chase, even though it was cold outside and not much warmer in the elevator.

It came to a halt, and they exited, looking at the six apartments that faced them and wondering if there was any identification that would assist them in knowing into which one she had gone.

“She could have come up and walked down a floor,” Brendan said to Amanda’s disappointed look. He cocked his head as if to listen for footsteps in the stairwell and shook his head.

Some of the apartments had nameplates outside the door where the buzzer was located, and they began at the first and pressed the button. An older woman opened the door in her slippers and said, “What now?”

“We’re looking for Ingrid,” Amanda said.

“Who?”

“Never mind, she must have given me the wrong address.”

The woman made a sour face and closed the door.

“One down,” Brendan said.

The next apartment had a blank nameplate. Amanda pushed the buzzer and waited for about thirty seconds then pushed again. No answer. They moved on.

Brendan got to the next apartment first.

“Look, this is the same name as the Bauers’ nurse,” he whispered. “Schultz.”

He pushed the buzzer and leaned his head toward the door. Amanda caught up with him and similarly inclined her head to listen. They could hear footsteps approach and then stop. He pushed the buzzer again.

“Who is it?” a woman’s voice called out.

Brendan put his finger to his lips to make sure Amanda didn’t say anything. The lock was undone, and the door opened a few inches to the wide eyes of the nurse who had attended to Mr. Bauer.

Not waiting to be invited in, Brendan put his foot in the space and gently pushed the door wider.

“Good afternoon,” he said cheerfully. “We are looking for Ingrid. Is she here?”

The small figure of the maid appeared around the corner and with her hands up to her face, she gasped.

“I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“You already have. I told you everything I know!” the nurse said, backing into the small living room. Brendan entered and walked past the nurse, while Amanda closed the door and stood there in the event the nurse made a run for it. She didn’t but walked purposefully back to where Ingrid stood, eyes wide, looking scared to death. Ingrid collapsed into an armchair and waited.

“I didn’t do anything. I’m just visiting a friend,” she said, her slight accent amplified by fear.

“Why did you run away from us?”

“I wasn’t running away from anything. I was running to my friend’s house for safety.”

“Safety from what?”

“Being persecuted! I have to keep my opinions to myself. Nobody likes them.”

“Persecuted by whom? For what?”

Ingrid looked at the nurse, who hesitated.

“My political beliefs about my homeland. Nobody here wants to hear about you being German. I hear that people who have lived here all their lives changed their names to sound more American. They have no pride. And all because of a war that we didn’t start,” she said.

“Who is persecuting you?”

“The newspapers, the radio programs, the shopkeepers. Mr. Bauer understood how we suffered and was kind enough to employ me. My family back home must share an apartment with another family because they are too poor and there is little work. I send them money, but it is not enough. My father is sick and—” Here she stopped and began to cry.

“Liebchen,” the nurse said. “Let me get you a glass of water.” She went out of the room, and they could hear a cabinet opening, the water running and the sound of a spoon stirring in a glass. She returned shortly thereafter.

“Here, drink this,” and she made sure the maid drank the entire glass.

“Wait!” Brendan said, noticing that the liquid in the glass was not entirely transparent.

“What is that?”

“Shh, shh,” the nurse admonished him. “It’s just a bit of a nerve medicine. Ingrid is very high strung, and it doesn’t do her good to be so upset.”

Brendan and Amanda stood in shock as Ingrid’s shoulders relaxed and her breathing became more regular. Almost instantaneously her grip on the glass started to slip and the nurse took it from her.

“What did you give her?”

“It’s a mild sedative. The doctor has prescribed it for just such situations as this.” She turned to them in anger. “Where a poor working woman from a foreign country is interrogated by the authorities when she has done nothing wrong.”

Somehow, the tables had been turned and Brendan was on the defensive. “I have scarcely interrogated her. We saw her at a nightclub⁠—.”

“A nightclub?” She laughed. “Ingrid? I think you are mistaken.”

“She wasn’t dancing or drinking. She was at a meeting at that location.”

“No, not possible.”

“When we saw her, she bolted and tried to evade us.”

The nurse stared him down. “As she said. She feels people look down on her because of her nationality. And she goes to some meetings from time to time with people just like her who wish to change things. Is that a crime?”

No one spoke and Amanda saw that Ingrid had gone from calmed down to almost asleep.

“I hope you’re not going to let her go all the way back to Dorchester like this,” Brendan said.

“She can stay here for the night. That place has been bad enough for all of us.”

Brendan looked at the nurse. “You have a ‘mild sedative’ in your possession. What else is in your apothecary here?”

“That medicine is Ingrid’s. I had Doctor Browne prescribe it for her nerves. She is lonely and often stays here. It is all above board.”

They regarded each other for a long moment.

“Nothing looks above board here,” Brendan said and made his way to the door, the nurse’s eyes boring into his back and a smirk reserved for Amanda.

Brendan had hardly said a word on their walk back from the nurse’s apartment, but Amanda could see that he was clearly disturbed by the incident. She let him brood and pinpoint what aspect of this case was to be tackled next.

“I’m in the mood for a drink,” she said. “We do have to retrieve our coats at the Oasis and perhaps catch the last of the show.”

Brendan grumbled a bit and said, “I need a stiff drink and something more substantial than those dainty things the ladies seem to like.”

“Actually, women don’t like those tidbits any more than men do, although they think they should. They’re certainly easier to handle as they’re usually one bite. No proper lady wants to pick up something in her hand, take a bite and have the rest land in her lap.”

“Aha. One mystery explained.”

“Also, it messes with her lipstick.”

“Things are complicated for you gals.”

“You have no idea.”

They reached the Oasis to see that the parking lot was still full and went in as if they had stepped outside for a moment. They slipped into their seats next to her parents, both of whom glared at her.

“It’s almost over. Where have you been?” Mrs. Burnside asked.

“Following a suspect,” Amanda said to her mother’s shocked face. “Have you chosen anything yet?” she asked her mother in a calm voice, looking at the order list.

“There is this lovely mauve wool dress and, although the model is so much younger than I and quite a bit thinner, I think it would be lovely. It’s one of my favorite colors.”

“Just be sure to stay away from purple,” Amanda said.

Her mother looked puzzled.

Amanda mouthed two words: “Old lady.”

“Really!” was the response from Mrs. Burnside who, upon further thinking, remembered that older women seemed to wear black or purple. But, in her opinion, mauve did not count.

The show had moved from the daytime looks at the beginning and now were into evening frocks. Amanda marveled at the models who walked calmly through the crowd to backstage, where they must have been in a frenzy to change into the next costume. She gave Marnie a wink as she passed by and got a funny look of charmed exhaustion in return.

“Louisa said the last dress is a wedding dress—I can’t wait!” Mrs. Burnside said.

Her husband’s furrowed brow indicated he hadn’t caught her enthusiasm and they waited for the last model to turn on the dais before exiting backstage. In the meantime, Brendan had ordered Manhattans for himself and Amanda, then eyed the lone hors d’oeuvre on the plate, offered it to Amanda, who declined, before popping it into his mouth.

“I’m still hungry,” he said in a whisper to her.

The pianist had stopped, and Louisa was back at the microphone, thanking everyone for coming and acknowledging her wonderful employer, Monsieur Josef, as well as the proprietor of the Oasis, Rob Worley. Each man stood and raised a hand in acknowledgement and the patrons applauded.

“Before we bring out the last design, I would encourage you to finalize your order forms. And thank you for attending.” She nodded to the pianist, who began the wedding march, while the audience gasped in anticipation.

With the appropriate hesitation to build suspense, one of the house models came out in a traditional white gown with a sweetheart neckline, long fitted lace sleeves, full skirt and an unusual choice: a medieval-looking headdress of a veil held in place by a circlet with her hair fully pulled off her face. The audience erupted in applause as she made her serene way through the crowd, the veil fluttering behind. Amanda saw Valerie give an imploring look at Fred Browne as if wishing she had made that choice for herself. He had no reaction.

“Poor girl. No wonder,” Amanda said, picking up the order slip. “Look at the price on it.”

Brendan whistled in response.

The bride made her way through the crowded room and back to the dais, where she was joined by the previous models who had come out for their bow. Then they all went into the audience to collect the order slips. Mrs. Burnside happily handed hers over and smiled at her husband. Amanda looked over at Valerie and Fred and saw that no paper changed hands at that table.

Brendan had followed her gaze and said, “I’d like to ask him if he really prescribed a sedative for Ingrid. Did you notice that people always refer to it as a ‘mild’ sedative? The maid was practically passed out. Maybe Nurse Schultz siphoned off some narcotics from another source.”

“I thought morphine was always injected. Can you also consume it?” Amanda asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps I will ask your old friend Doctor Browne about that, too.”

“He may be old, but it’s obvious there are no friendly feelings,” she said.

“What are you two talking about?” Mrs. Burnside asked.

“Just investigation business,” Amanda answered, getting a look from her mother that indicated she still didn’t entirely approve of her daughter’s line of work.

“Come back to our place and we’ll grab a bite,” Amanda suggested, and he readily agreed. She told her mother, who looked anxiously back.

“I told Cook that we wouldn’t need dinner. Oh, dear,” Mrs. Burnside said at the thought.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there is something in the house we can eat. The cupboard is never bare.”

The process of getting their outer garments, waiting for the valet parking attendants to bring their cars and finally getting onto the street took much longer than anyone had expected.

“Are you sure it’s not an imposition?” Brendan asked, referring to her casual invitation.

“We’ve got food at our house,” Amanda said. “Pay no attention to my mother fussing about not having a full-blown banquet available. I wonder if we’ll see Louisa anytime soon. What a lot of organization this event involved. And now they must pack up all the clothes—and I can assure you, they don’t just dump them in a laundry cart. Everything is folded and padded with tissue paper.”

“What does that do?” Brendan asked.

“It gives a little bit of cushioning so there are no creases. But I’m sure the staff will spend a good part of tomorrow steaming everything anyway.”

“The entire fashion industry is a mystery to me,” Brendan said. “My mother irons the cotton and linen things and the wool stuff goes to the dry cleaners.”

“That might work well for most of us, but Monsieur Josef would never consider it.”

“Why wasn’t he at the microphone instead of Louisa?” Brendan asked.

“She said he sometimes suffers from nerves.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. Perhaps he worries too much about his business or he gets stage fright. He seems to be fine in the salon, but the larger audience of people he doesn’t know seems to do him in. She’s seen him take pills during the day, but of course never asked him what they were for.”

“That’s too bad. He’s missing out on a lot if that’s his Achilles heel in the kind of work he does.”

They reached the Burnside house and could see by the lights inside that her parents had got there before them.

“Now let’s reassure my mother that whatever is available to eat will be more than enough since we stuffed ourselves on the hors d’oeuvres,” Amanda said.

“Stuffed! I had one cold bite of pastry with a blob of cheese on top,” Brendan complained.

Her father had left the front door unlocked for them, so Amanda didn’t have to fish in her handbag for the key or ring the bell. They left their overcoats in the closet near the door and went to the sitting room where her father was pouring drinks while Cromwell wagged his tail wildly.

“I’d better take him for a short walk,” Mr. Burnside said, leading the dog to the back door where the leash was hung.

“I’ll help Mother,” Amanda said making her way into the kitchen.

Mrs. Burnside stood in the large room with her hand to her mouth, pondering what they could possibly eat.

“Let’s pretend we just came back early in the morning from a cotillion, and we’ll have breakfast. I know we have eggs. Scrambled eggs and toast it is,” Amanda said to her mother’s relief.

“Do you know how to make them?” her mother asked. “It’s been years since I had to do that.”

“If you can be the toast master—the toast maker, I suppose, we’ll make fast work of it.”

Amanda had only done this once before and never for four people, but she managed to crack the eggs without too many shards of shells in the batter, added cream and put them into a well buttered pan.

“I don’t quite know how Cook manages to make them light and fluffy but even if they’re dense and rubbery, it’s still food,” Amanda said by way of a preemptive apology.

Surprisingly, the meal came together without a hitch, and Mrs. Burnside was proud of herself for not having burnt the toast.

“I’m just going to stack the toast on a plate,” she said. “It’s not very elegant, but I don’t know where the toast rack is.”

Mr. Burnside had returned from the short walk with the dog following him into the kitchen.

“That’s very efficient, Mother. Daddy, can you make sure the table is set?” she asked her father while she scraped the eggs into a serving dish. He looked surprised at having been asked but also pleased that his daughter had taken charge.

By the time she pushed through the swinging door into the dining room, the men were already seated in front of plates and utensils but no placemats, with her mother fussing over what they may have forgotten.

“Butter and jam,” Amanda said. “Sit down, please, Mother, and I’ll get it.”

It was possibly the simplest meal the Burnsides had consumed in many years, but the company was convivial and relaxed.

“Mr. Burnside, I was wondering if I could ask you a few inheritance-type questions,” Brendan began.

“Oh, no. Not business again,” Mrs. Burnside said with a look at Amanda as if she could stop the conversation.

“Based on what Amanda has observed, it seems that Mr. Bauer didn’t update his will to include his current wife. She thinks that isn’t a problem and that she can get a portion by right of their marriage. Is that true?”

“I haven’t done estate work in some time, but unless the law has changed, which I don’t think it has recently, yes, she can take it up with the probate judge. It’s very likely, under the circumstances of his long illness, that he didn’t have either the energy or forethought to take care of that not-so-minor detail. The judge will take that into account. After all, by all reports, they were happily married, and she got along with the other family members well.”

“So it seems, but as you have probably observed in your long tenure in the law, once a great estate comes to light, all those pleasant feelings can soon evaporate.”

“Sadly, that is true. Amanda, have you discovered that it is as great an estate as Brendan has described it?”

“There’s the house and Mrs. Bauer has told me that she is on the deed so that’s one asset not under contention. They have bank accounts, some rental income and then the mysterious horde of gold,” she said.

“What? I hadn’t heard that,” Mrs. Burnside said, annoyed to have been left out of that particular piece of information previously.

“Nobody knows if it is true or if it was a story spun by the late Mr. Bauer to pique peoples’ interest. But the search goes on. I suspect that we’ll conclude our thorough room-by-room search sometime soon.”

“I never knew that’s what private investigators did,” Mrs. Burnside said. “I should have used your skills around here before.”

“Jack of all trades,” Amanda said.

“And master of none, is the rest of the saying,” her father reminded her.

“Another thing, Mr. Burnside, physicians in this state are licensed, but is there any regulatory body for them?”

Amanda put her fork down and looked at Brendan.

“Do you suspect some wrongdoing?” Mr. Burnside asked.

“I’m not sure. But there seems to be a bit of narcotics in the household, and I was wondering, aside from what was being administered to Mr. Bauer, who else could legally authorize and administer the drugs?”

“There’s been a Medical Board since the last century that licenses doctors and investigates complaints of malpractice. From what I know, only doctors can write prescriptions for narcotics that they or nurses can give.”

“Of course, there have always been illegally obtained drugs. I’m not suggesting anything of that kind occurred.” Brendan trailed off and looked down at his meal. “Thank you for dinner. This has been special,” he said to Mrs. Burnside and Amanda with a smile.

Amanda was not smiling. Whatever her opinion of Fred Browne, she found it hard to believe he was involved in something illegal.

Chapter 14

Amanda and Brendan were both expected at the Bauer residence the next day, but due to their different roles in the case, they took separate cars and staggered their arrival. They hadn’t mentioned their personal relationship to anyone in the family; all that Mrs. Bauer knew was that they were working together with her blessing.

The butler opened the door to Brendan before he had a chance to ring the doorbell, took his hat and overcoat and looked expectantly for instructions.

“I’d like to talk to Mr. Richardson.”

“Top of the stairs, third door on the right,” he responded. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Thank you, but I think I can figure it out,” Brendan said with a smile. He ascended the thickly carpeted steps held in place with brass rods and got to the landing. The first time and last time he had been upstairs, he was so focused on his mission that he hadn’t taken in the scale of the place. The first door on the right had been Mr. Bauer’s sickroom, and it looked as bleak as when he first saw it—with no pictures on the wall, the shades pulled down and a brown chenille bedspread on the single bed. He peered around the door and saw that the cot the nurse had used was still in place, the pillow and blanket removed and nothing on top of the chest of drawers.

There was the sound of people talking and he heard what must have been Rosie laughing, so the location of the nursery two doors down was easy to find. He approached and stood in the open doorway of a room twice as large as the one he had just been in, with a wall of windows brightening up what was a dull day outside. At the far end of the room, amid toys scattered on the floor, Mr. Richardson held the attention of both Christine and Rosie as he stood before them telling a story. He was dressed in the same suit as the day before, but his demeanor was completely different: animated and joyful.

“So then, the conductor didn’t know what to do with the gentleman, who just kept walking.” At this point he bent his back and shuffled a few steps and mumbled something in a deep voice. This made the two girls shriek with laughter.

“And then…what do you suppose happened?”

“That’s not how it happened,” Christine said.

“Tell, tell,” Rosie said, clapping her hands in anticipation.

Christine’s attention was pulled away by seeing Brendan in the doorway and her face fell. Mr. Richardson turned around.

“Hello,” he said genially. “Just telling them a funny story from my train trip up here. There is always some character in the car.”

“I imagine you get to travel quite a bit,” Brendan said.

Richardson was on guard immediately. “Not too much, actually.”

“I hate to interrupt, but would you mind if we could find a quiet place to talk?”

“Now? I suppose,” he added reluctantly. “Let’s go downstairs,”

Brendan was observing the nanny, whose eyes followed every movement of the man standing before her. Then she saw he was looking at her and turned her attention to Rosie.

“Come on, let’s pick up the game where we left off,” she said and made sure that Brendan didn’t see her face.

Richardson led the way to the sitting room, sat down in one of the armchairs and took a cigarette case from his breast pocket. “That’s right. You don’t smoke.”

Brendan sat on the other side of a small table that held an ashtray that looked as if it had been carved from jade.

“Libby is probably in the study, Emily in the morning room, this will have to do.”

“It’s fine. I wanted to get a few more details about your trip up here,” Brendan said.

“Like to hear the story of the old man and the conductor?” Richardson asked with a smile.

“No, I’d like to know what train you took from where.”

“Penn Station. The noon train.”

“Arriving when?”

“Shortly before I saw you here.”

“And you weren’t here over the weekend?”

“Me? Rosamund wouldn’t have sanctioned it. She’s kept Rosie at arm’s length from me as best she can. I was in the City, went for the weekend to Tuxedo. Friend of the family.”

“It would help if you could produce ticket stubs for your trips.”

“The trip to the country was by automobile. But I can get you the name and number for the Arbuthnots, who invited me.”

“That would be helpful.” Brendan paused. “Do you think your father-in-law had any enemies?”

Richardson took a long drag on his cigarette and smiled as he exhaled. “He wasn’t the easiest of people. You could even say he was a bit ruthless when it came to business, although a pushover when it came to family. Funny old bird,” he concluded.

“When he sold the company, that was the end of your job?”

“No, I was part of the package in the deal. Nice of him, I’d say, since by that time Rosamund and I were having difficulties. I stayed on in the same position for about two months, but it was clear the new owners had no use for my advice or my connections. They wanted a clean break, and I gave it to them.”

“What did you do then?”

“Worked in advertising. A classmate of mine got me in. Great bunch of people but it wasn’t for me. Next, I was pulled into finance. Well, I imagine you know how that went.” His legs were crossed at the knee, and he brushed something off his pant leg.

“Are you currently employed?”

“I do announcing and other voice work on the radio at the moment. It’s something but doesn’t pay too well. I’ve had some folks interested in me for a more permanent spot as a radio actor. In the meantime, I had some money put aside and a small trust fund.” He gave a bleak smile.

“Miss Goodman was visiting her parents over the weekend in New York. Were you two acquainted?”

Richardson gave a condescending smile. “New York is a big place.”

“Were you?”

“Only through Rosie,” he said.

“Thank you for your time. And don’t forget to get me the contact information for your friends.”

Richardson stubbed out his cigarette and went back upstairs.

Brendan hadn’t seen Ingrid since he arrived, but she might have been busy somewhere in the house. He thought about talking to the cook again, one of the few people in the house who wasn’t on guard, so he made his way to the kitchen. He had got as far as the swinging door when he heard an argument in progress upstairs, so he retraced his steps and stood in the sitting room, trying to make out what it was about.

“How dare you!” a woman’s voice shouted.

There was a man’s low voice, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Get out of here right now!” the woman yelled.

Then Rosie was crying loudly, and Moritz came bounding down the stairs and zoomed out of sight.

Mrs. Bauer came out from the direction of the morning room with an exasperated look on her face and mounted the stairs, Amanda at her heels but stopping next to Brendan.

“I gather this is not an unusual event,” she said.

“After you,” Brendan said, gesturing with his hand that she should go first up the stairs.

“Do you think we should?” Amanda asked.

“Yes. What people blurt in times of anger is usually telling.”

The yelling continued, and it seemed to be Rosamund and the nanny in an altercation.

“You little tramp!”

“I have never been so insulted in all my life!”

As they approached the nursery, they could see Mrs. Bauer attempting to intervene, Rosie in tears, Richardson looking disinterested, with Rosamund and Christine face to face hurling insults at one another.

“You’re just jealous because you’re a dried-up hag!” Christine shouted with a smile, pleased that she had come up with that description.

“And you’re trying to horn in on this family because you’ve got nothing else in your life!”

When they sensed outsiders were present, they stopped but continued to glare at one another.

“It’s time for you to go,” Rosamund said.

“Fine. I’ve had enough of your charity.”

“What are you talking about?” Rosamund asked.

“You know full well. Your father cheated our family out of tens of thousands of dollars with his scheming. It was his guilt that got me this job. And it wasn’t enough!”

Rosamund turned on her stepmother. “Is that true?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way.”

“How would you describe it?”

“You know your father was a very shrewd man. He was interested in doing a deal with the Goodmans, and I’m not sure about the details exactly.” She looked over to her step-son-in-law. “You were working for Herman at the time. Perhaps you can recall.”

Richardson briefly closed his eyes in annoyance and then said, “It had to do with the timing of the transaction and the fluctuation of interest rates. That’s all I can remember. There were many transactions over the course of the time I worked with him. I can’t possibly remember them all.”

“I don’t believe either of you are so ignorant of Mr. Bauer’s dealings. I’m very disappointed in you, Geoff,” Christine said. She looked about to burst into tears.

“Geoff? Since when do you call my husband by his Christian name?” Rosamund asked.

Christine blushed. “I understood you were on the brink of getting a divorce. So, it should be ex-husband.”

“Not yet!” Rosamund said firmly.

“That’s not what I was told,” Christine said. “I guess I’d better pack my things.”

“Where are you going?” Rosie asked.

“To stay with my parents. Come on, you can help me pack.”

Rosamund tried to stop Rosie, but the nanny had her charge by the hand and left. The temperature in the room had not decreased.

“And what are you two snooping around for?” Rosamund said to Brendan and Amanda, still hovering at the open door.

“You may recall that Sergeant Halloran is investigating your father’s death and Miss Burnside is helping me locate some of the assets,” Mrs. Bauer said patiently.

Libby appeared at the doorway.

“What on earth is going on here?”

“Nothing much,” Rosamund said, glaring at Richardson. “I was just leaving.” She bustled out the door and Richardson hesitated a moment before following her.

“Those two! Why is there always such drama?” Libby said.

“Now, now, dear. It’s their problem. We don’t need to get involved. Why don’t you put your feet up?” Mrs. Bauer put her arm around Libby’s shoulder and guided her out of the room.

Amanda and Brendan looked at each other with raised brows.

“I’m going to go back to what I was doing,” Amanda said.

“And I want to talk to Christine,” Brendan said.

He found her in her room at the far end of the hall, opening drawers, taking out the contents and carefully folding the clothes into two suitcases. She did not seem to be hurrying.

“Where’s Rosie?”

“She went to get something for me.” She continued her task without seeming to take note of the detective.

“How long have you known Mr. Richardson?”

“Since I came to work here.”

“But he never lived here, right?”

“Correct. But he did visit, and I would see him when I visited my parents.”

“Ah,” Brendan said.

“Ah, what?” She turned on him quickly. “I’m of age. Those two are getting divorced. He’s just waiting around for the payoff.”

“And were you hoping to get that payoff sooner rather than later?”

“What does that mean?”

“Those ticket stubs from your trip are from last week, not this past weekend.”

“What? I must have mixed them up.”

“Why save them in the first place?”

“Force of habit, I guess,” she said blandly and then resumed her packing.

“Here,” Rosie said skipping into Caroline’s room. She held out her hand. “This is for you.”

It was a gold coin.

Christine’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t take that. Where did you get it from?”

“Grandpa gave it to me.”

“May I take a look?” Brendan asked. He held out his hand and it was placed in his palm.

On the obverse was a profile of a man with a beard. On the reverse was a stylized eagle with wings outstretched. He saw the year was stamped 1904.

“It’s very pretty. But if your grandfather gave it to you, then you ought to keep it,” Brendan said. “First, could I take a rubbing?”

They looked puzzled.

“Just give me a piece of plain paper and a pencil and I’ll show you.”

Christine went to a small desk and brought the items back. Brendan put the paper over the coin and using the side of the lead in the pencil, moved it quickly back and forth.

“See?” he asked, holding up the impression on the paper. He turned the coin over and made another rubbing before handing the coin back to Rosie.

“Don’t you want it?” Rosie asked Christine. I thought you needed money.”

“I never said that,” Christine said.

“You were just arguing with my mother about that, weren’t you?”

Christine crouched down to be more of a height with Rosie. “I’m fine. It was just some old argument between her family and mine.”

“My family and your family?”

“I guess. But that’s old bones. I’m moving on.”

Rosie began to cry, and Christine sat on the bed and hugged her. Brendan thought it was a good moment to leave and he went down to the morning room where Amanda was sorting through papers. She looked up.

“Another gold coin just showed up,” he said.

Chapter 15

Later, when Mrs. Bauer came back to the morning room, Amanda told her about the coin that Rosie had in her possession.

“What was the man thinking?” she said referring to her late husband.

“Was this supposed to be a treasure hunt of some kind?” Amanda asked.

“More like a wild goose chase. I’d never seen him dabbling in coin collecting and I’ve never seen any coins around the house except what we found in Christmas stockings and they were quite small.”

“Do you think it’s here in the house somewhere?” Amanda asked. As she waited for an answer, Ingrid came into the doorway and, seeing Amanda, quickly left.

“What was that about?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

“It seems Ingrid and the nurse are good friends and are not happy I’m here.”

“They had a lot of contact when the nurse was here. In the early afternoon, the women—the cook, the nurse and Ingrid—would have their Kaffeepause. With cookies! They could all speak German, which was a comfort to Ingrid, who I think has felt somewhat unmoored since she moved to this country.”

That explained her emotional outburst the afternoon before. Amanda knew she had a room in the house and probably didn’t have much opportunity to be in the outside world.

“I wonder why she developed such a strange attitude to her new surroundings,” Amanda said.

“Maybe just homesick,” Mrs. Bauer added. “Well, we have taken the library apart. Now let’s methodically go through each room and see if we can find anything. The roughest job will be the attic so let’s leave that for tomorrow. And I might suggest you come dressed for the role.”

“An apron?”

“It may be a dusty endeavor. For the rest of today, I’ll check the bedrooms on the second floor if you take the more public rooms downstairs.”

Amanda began in the sitting room, which was full of furniture but no obvious places to hide anything. The dainty table between the armchairs was only large enough for a table lamp and ashtray and the tiny drawer had a pencil and a small brass ring, possibly belonging to the lamp. The fireplace had ornaments on the mantel including two ceramic jars with lids. She picked one up and by its weight alone determined there could be nothing inside. Just to be sure, she took off the top and looked inside. The thought occurred to her that Mr. Bauer might have scattered gold coins in odd places around the house and to be sure, she pulled up the edge of the Persian carpet to see if there was anything to be found. Then back to the armchairs,where she put her hands down the sides of the cushions and came up with only a matchbook and a penny.

There was nowhere else in the room to hide anything unless the wall panels were hollow, and she had no way of knowing how to check on that except knocking on them. No, she would leave that to someone else. She bent over and peered up into the fireplace but saw nothing. Putting non-paper money in the damper of the flue would be a great hiding place and she noticed that it didn’t look like a fire had been lit in some time. She would have to bring a flashlight tomorrow to check.

Next was the morning room where she and Mrs. Bauer worked, and she methodically went through the drawers, even pulling them out fully in the event something had slipped behind. Just papers, lists, pens, ink and pencils. There were volumes in a bookshelf, and she took down each book in turn to make sure there were no hollowed-out compartments. Another vase on a tabletop was examined and found to be just that. Nothing under the base of the lamp. She looked up at a chandelier and thought that could be an excellent hiding place, but a ladder would be needed to find out. Save that for the next day. Adjacent to the morning room was a small alcove with an armchair and floor lamp, someone’s solo reading space. Nothing in the cushions or in the lamp.

Onward to the dining room. It was opulent, lined in wood up to waist height, then above on the walls, painted to appear to be marble, hung a series of prints of 19th century English hunting scenes. Beginning at the far end was the group of hunters assembled next to their horses enjoying a last cup of something before setting out. Then the men in their ‘hunting pinks’ at a trot with the dogs ahead. Another print had them jumping a fence, then galloping across a field, and another crossing a stream. The next set showed the full cry of the hunt, cornering the fox and then its ultimate demise. They were beautiful prints, but Amanda thought it strange that Mr. Bauer should have hung them in the dining room. And she wondered why he was so intrigued by the English hunting tradition.

Mrs. Bauer interrupted her musings with a short laugh. “Herman’s family was enamored with English upper-class traditions. They even hired a British tutor, and he learned to speak English before he came to America. He loved his traditions, the old-fashioned cuisine—that’s why he employed our cook who could make Bavarian dishes.”

“I think I’ve had some of them at a German restaurant in town. They’re hearty and flavorful.”

“I think he had these hung here to evoke the notion of hunter’s food. Not fox, obviously, but he wished he had gone boar hunting or deer hunting and brought home the meat. The other thing about Herman was that he was so consumed by his work that the notion of having a hobby was anathema to him. Even at his advanced age when I first knew him, he thought such things were frivolous.”

“So, this is daydreaming?”

“In a sense. I’ve gone through everyone’s bedroom on the second floor, to the annoyance of each of them. Nothing there.”

“I’ve had the same results. Unless he built a false room or had storage behind the wood panels in any of the rooms, I can’t imagine what he had done.”

“Let’s check in here,” Mrs. Bauer said and, closing the folding doors to the dining room, she revealed a built-in chest of drawers. “The silver service is stored in here,” she said, opening the top drawer slowly as it was heavy with the twelve-piece setting of cutlery stored on felt in separate compartments for each utensil.

Amanda was taken aback by the variety of them. The obvious forks and knives, but also dessert and salad forks, soup spoons, teaspoons, grapefruit spoons, fish forks and steak knives. Underneath was another drawer with serving utensils: large ladles for soup, a salad fork and flat spoon, perforated and solid serving spoons, carving knives and forks, tongs and duplicates of the above.

“Let’s see what’s down here,” Mrs. Bauer said, pulling open a drawer that was not as deep as the others, which stored napkins. She tilted her head to the side.

“That’s odd.” She pulled the drawer out fully, handed it to Amanda and found another drawer behind it.

“How clever,” she said and pulled it forward to find it entirely empty. Except for one gold coin, just like the one Brendan had showed her. Mrs. Bauer held it up.

“That man!” she said both in frustration and admiration. “At least somewhere he is getting a huge chuckle out of all our frustrations.”

The drawer below was packed with more napkins and tablecloths and, looking around the room, neither woman could see any other hiding place for a cache of gold. Unless Mr. Bauer had decided to hide each coin in a different spot.

“Are they particularly valuable?” Amanda asked.

“Aside from their weight in gold, I don’t know,” Mrs. Bauer said. “I suppose I ought to look into it.” She sighed. “It’s been a tiring day. Let’s retreat to the kitchen and have the cook make us a Kaffeepause,” she said with a smile.

“Just the thing,” Amanda said.

“Please, Mrs. Schneider, we didn’t mean to disturb you. But we would love a cup of your delicious coffee.”

That did the trick and the woman blushed, bowed, smiled and set about filling a kettle with water.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, did Mr. Bauer ever get that shipment of Black Forest ham?”

“Ah, ja. It’s in the pantry. Would you like some now?”

“No, I was just curious. Best left for dinner, don’t you think?”

“He also ordered some ham from Virginia, and that is very different.”

“How so?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

“Let me show you.” The cook took the ring of keys at her waist like some medieval housewife and went to a corner of the vast kitchen and unlocked a door. Inside there were shelves from floor to ceiling with jars of preserved food and canned goods, and hanging from the ceiling was a huge ham.

“What are we supposed to do with that?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

“It’s some difficult thing of soaking in water for a few days and changing the water to take away the salt. They must like their hams salty,” the cook said with a skeptical face.

“And you don’t have to refrigerate it?” Amanda asked.

The cook laughed. “Out in the country, people don’t have ice boxes or refrigerators.”

“They have a panty that faces a north wall. We keep eggs here, too. I know some Americans don’t do that, but Mrs. Schneider has convinced me it’s perfectly healthy,” Mrs. Bauer said.

Amanda was fascinated by the abundance on all sides. There were condiments of every kind and canned goods with foreign labels.

“It seems Mr. Bauer was a real connoisseur of rare foods,” Amanda said. She reached up to turn a jar around to look at the label.

“No, miss. Please don’t touch anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Amanda said.

“Mr. Bauer was very particular.” She ushered them quickly out of the pantry and locked the door.

Amanda could appreciate the woman’s reverence for her deceased employer, but not touching the goods was a bit over the top.

"The water is boiling. Let me make the coffee. I’ll serve you in the dining room,” the cook said.

“I’d rather stay in the kitchen. It’s warmer in here,” Mrs. Bauer said and sat on one of the stools around the butcher block worktable.

The cook opened a tin and placed cookies on a plate that she put before them.

“Pfeffernusse!” Amanda exclaimed. “I’ve haven’t had these in forever.”

“They’re really Christmas-season cookies, but I like to keep them on hand,” the cook said.

“Is it a specialty of Bavaria?” Amanda asked and the cook looked up, surprised that the young woman had remembered that fact.

“Every city claims they invented it. Every country maybe, too,” Mrs. Bauer said. “Like the age-old who question of who invented the frankfurter.”

“Germany, of course,” the cook said stoutly.

“People have been eating sausages for centuries,” Mrs. Bauer said. “Even in ancient Rome.”

The cook was surprised. “Not like the kind we make.” She took a bowl of oranges from the butcher block table, and she was peeling them with a knife in preparation of some dish when she stopped. “What is this?” She held up a peel. “Someone has poked holes in the oranges. That Rosie!”

“On second thought, let’s do have our coffee in the dining room when it’s ready,” Mrs. Bauer said, getting up and leading Amanda through the swinging door with an exasperated look on her face. “Poor little girl gets blamed for everything.”

“So, tomorrow is attic day, is it?” Amanda asked. In one sense, she was looking forward to moving ahead with the search process, but not to wading through what must be a huge room filled with the family’s bric-a-brac. She looked down at her hands and noticed the nail polish had become chipped from rooting around in the chair cushions and prying open stuck drawers. There would be more of the same the next day so there was no point in more than a cursory repair of her manicure that evening.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, nibbling on the cookies while waiting for the coffee to be served.

“Your sister-in-law seems a sensitive person.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Do you think she’ll be all right?”

“I’m not sure. She is also a poor sleeper. To add to her anxiety, she said she heard noises last night as if someone was prowling around.”

“Could it have been Rosamund or the maid?” Amanda asked.

“It very well could have been. Or that silly Moritz knocking things over the way that cats do. You know, a swat of the paw. It’s amazing he hasn’t destroyed more things in the house besides the upholstery in Rosie’s room.”

“I’ve only recently become a dog owner, and we don’t have that problem.”

“Libby has always been a nervous sort and I think somewhere in her mind she believes that she will be out of a home soon.”

The cook came in with a pot of coffee, cups, saucers, spoons, sugar and cream and silently left.

“I didn’t want to speak in front of the cook,” Mrs. Bauer said. “I would like the household to remain as it is. But if we can’t find what my husband hid, there is a possibility that I may need to sell the house. Libby could always have a home with me. I just don’t think she would be looking forward to it at all.”

Both of the women looked up as they heard footsteps from outside the dining room quietly retreating.

“That was not Moritz,” Amanda said.

Chapter 16

Brendan called the next morning to ask what Amanda’s plans were for the day.

“I’ll be at the Bauers’ to dig around in the attic,” she said. “Were you planning on coming by the house?”

“Some things have come up here at the station. I think I’ve exhausted all my questions and none of the answers are helping. I’m counting on you to be the spy in my absence until something else turns up.”

“I don’t know how useful I am in that capacity.”

“You never know what someone is capable of. For instance. I had the most fascinating discussion with Clyde Owens.”

Amanda held the receiver away from her face for a moment, certain that she must have misheard. “Your Clyde Owens?”

“He’s hardly mine, but he came through in a most spectacular way. I was looking at the rubbing impression of the coin I had made, and he came in to ask some question and stopped short and asked where I had got that. And before I could even explain, he blurted out that it looked exactly like a Wilhelm the Second ten-mark piece and that it was very valuable. He put two and two together and asked if it came from the Bauers’ house, and of course I said yes. It turns out—aside from his other peculiarities—Clyde is an amateur numismatist. Who would have guessed?”

“He certainly can’t be an actual collector, can he? Not on his salary.”

“Of course not, but in his spare time he likes to look at books about coins and I guess he has become knowledgeable.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Amanda commented.

“I see the Chief coming my way, so let’s talk later,” Brendan said and hung up.

Amanda went back to her room and surveyed the closet. She didn’t think there was anything that could be considered appropriate for rough work until she remembered a pair of overalls stashed in the back that she had worn once for a day picnic while still in school. It was a brilliant purchase since the other girls who wore shorts to the event managed to get poison ivy on their uncovered legs and she was spared.

An old cloth blouse that she didn’t mind getting dirty and a pair of brogues completed the outfit. When she entered the breakfast room, both her parents stared at her.

“Got a surveillance job at the docks, do you?” her father asked, chuckling at his own joke.

“A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do,” was the reply.

“Amanda—whyever are you dressed like that?” her mother asked. “And that dreadful slang.”

“We’re having a treasure hunt today and our target is the Bauers’ attic.”

“Oh, dear. Don’t they have staff to do that sort of work?”

“And have the maid get her little white apron all dusty? Hardly. And we’d prefer to keep the staff and the rest of the family out of it.” She poured herself some coffee.

“It’s like that, is it?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s a big and busy household and I’m still trying to map out all the relationships in my mind.”

“I hope there is nothing dangerous or threatening,” her mother said.

“No. Just people sniping at each other. Some arguing, some hand-wringing and some tears. Nothing much.” She helped herself to scrambled eggs from a covered dish.

Louisa stopped short at the doorway and then entered.

“Morning all. Well, Amanda, I suppose it must be the new look. I’ll have to tell Monsieur Josef that we need to be more current,” Louisa said to her sister.

“Silence is golden,” Amanda replied with a smile.

Waechter nodded to Amanda as he opened the door, and she was once again impressed at his ability to maintain composure under any circumstances, including ushering a female private detective in a workman’s outfit into the house without a blink. As she made her way to the morning room, the thought crossed her mind that it might be someone of such sang-froid who could deliver the lethal dose to his employer. But then, what motive could the man possibly have? All she knew of him was that he hailed from Chicago, according to Brendan. That put another set of gears turning in her head. Gangsters? Did Mr. Bauer ever have any encounter with organized crime?

“Worried about something?” Mrs. Bauer asked, reacting to Amanda’s creased forehead when she entered the room where they worked.

“Just puzzling over a problem,” Amanda responded. “And dressed for duty.” She spread her arms out and turned around.

“Very good. But I would also suggest a kerchief for your hair. Dust and all that.”

Amanda hoped the ‘all that’ didn’t refer to cobwebs. Mrs. Bauer was dressed as usual in a tweed skirt, twinset sweater and flat shoes. It seemed Amanda was going to do all the heavy lifting.

As they walked down the second story hallway to the backstairs that would lead them up to the third floor, Libby came out of her room in her usual state of distress.

“Didn’t you hear it last night?” she asked Mrs. Bauer.

“Sorry, what?”

“All those shuffling around and bumping noises. I tell you someone is prowling around the house at night. And don’t blame it on the cat.”

“Where did you hear the noises coming from?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

“Sometimes from downstairs and also upstairs from the servants’ floor.”

“They do stay up late setting up for us for the next morning. Perhaps that’s what you heard.” Mrs. Bauer had employed her patient voice, but Libby wasn’t accepting it.

“You’ll see. Something is afoot,” she said and closed the door to her room.

“It’s an old house with a lot of people in it. You must expect shifting and creaking from time to time,” Mrs. Bauer said to the closed door.

They went up the back stairs to the third floor and the attic door almost directly to their right. Mrs. Bauer switched on the light, which was a bare bulb in the center of the huge room to which they ascended.

“Flashlight,” Amanda said, holding it up in her hand.

“Aren’t you resourceful.”

“Where to begin?” Amanda asked.

“I’ll start down this end if you can begin toward the back. There are a lot of large pieces of furniture, and we ought to check in the drawers if there are any.”

Amanda had also brought gloves, which she put on before switching on the flashlight and delving into the back regions of the attic. It was an unfinished room with the roof beams clearly visible so no possible place to hide anything unless there were floorboards to pull up. And she wasn’t going to attempt that. There was a bookcase against the back wall next to a tiny window covered in grime that let in little to no light. She pulled out a book and blew the dust away. It was in German in Fraktur font, and she didn’t understand enough of the language to make out what it was about. Flipping through some pages, though, it appeared to be about some royal person. She put it back and checked the others in the case, looking behind each volume and flipping through pages as if paper money would come drifting out. All it produced was a cloud of dust. Next to the bookcase was a steamer trunk and lifting the top she saw clothing. Pulling out the nearest garment she saw it was some sort of military jacket in wool with gold epaulets tarnished by time.

“Do you know if your late husband served in the military?” she asked.

Mrs. Bauer raised her head from whatever she had been examining. “I’m sure he didn’t. He was too young when he left Germany to have done so there and too old to participate in the Great War. What have you found?” She joined Amanda, who was carefully taking out an old-fashioned uniform piece by piece and something that looked like a cadet’s cap.

“How lovely. I know he was enamored of all things military, as you saw by his library, but I didn’t know he collected this sort of memorabilia.”

After the clothes were removed from the trunk there were letters tied up in a ribbon at the bottom and Mrs. Bauer took them out. Amanda shone the light on them, and they were in a delicate script addressed to Gemeiner Bauer.

The two women looked at each other.

“Who do you think this was?” Amanda asked.

Mrs. Bauer carefully opened one of the letters and read, “‘Liebchen.’ Somebody’s girlfriend. I don’t think Gemeiner is anyone’s name, I think it might be a rank in the military. It could be Herman’s brother. I always have difficulty reading other peoples’ script so I can’t make much of it out. And I don’t speak German. It seems paper must have been at a premium, judging by the lone sheet of paper and the cramped lines. Oh, I wish Herman were here to give us a clue as to what this is all about.”

“Let’s leave it for now and keep looking,” Amanda suggested, not willing to waste time opening each letter and trying to figure out for whom it was intended, much less what it said, since neither could read them.

Mrs. Bauer reluctantly put the letters on top of the trunk. “I may get someone to translate them later.”

Other trunks smelled of moth balls that had dwindled to small pellets scattered over rugged winter clothing: coats, lined pants with stirrups and woolen turtlenecks. Amanda wondered if Mr. Bauer had been an outdoorsman in his youth, an image at odds with the frail body she had seen in the bed just days earlier.

Mrs. Bauer let out a cry of astonishment and called to have Amanda come over and see what had been discovered.

“How darling!” she said, holding up a very old, porcelain-faced doll in a white lace dress with bloomers. “This must have been Libby’s. I wonder if she even knows it’s up here. And a child’s tea set. I’ll tell her about it and see if she trusts Rosie to play with it. Little girls these days are rougher than we were, and it would be terrible if she broke any of these things.” As she continued to paw through the trunk, she unearthed a well-worn teddy bear and some puzzles in a box.

Amanda went back to her end of the attic and thought that nobody had been up there in a very long time and surely not Mr. Bauer. She had read about a metal detector machine that had been invented and wondered if gold was a metal that would register with such a device. The reality was that she didn’t have such a machine and she doubted the gold—if it really existed—was hidden in the attic. Wouldn’t Mr. Bauer have done something more sensible, such as transfer his wealth into bonds? If so, those consisted of paper and could more easily be hidden in the pages of a book or many different books. She eyed the glass-fronted bookcase behind another piece of furniture and thought flipping through each volume would take days, but pulling each one out and looking for an anomaly like a bulge between pages could produce something.

This bookcase was a further collection of books in German, but because they had been covered by the glass, they weren’t quite as dusty as the ones she had first encountered. The third volume she picked up had something between the pages; she opened it to find a hand-embroidered cloth bookmark. She found she had to take off her clumsy work gloves to continue this search and looked at each volume, finding only a newspaper clipping about the engagement of some young girl in 1919, again in German. She slipped it in her pocket to ask Mrs. Bauer later if the name meant anything to her or her husband.

It was dirty and backbreaking work to bend down and check each volume, move some smaller pieces of furniture to get to the larger ones behind and lift out drawers to check for anything behind. Amanda stood up and stretched and looked at her watch. They had been at it more than two hours and her hands were filthy and her nail varnish chipped. Mrs. Bauer was only a few feet away and looked as disappointed as Amanda felt.

“We haven’t looked through those boxes, but they are only Christmas ornaments and lights.” She sighed. “It’s early, but let’s at least have some lunch. We dare not go out looking as we do,” she said, looking down at her own clothes streaked with dirt. I should have done the sensible thing and dressed as you have.”

They turned off the light, wearily went down the stairs and made their way to the dining room, expecting to see Ingrid putting out the table linens. Instead, they found her alone in the kitchen.

“Where’s Mrs. Schneider?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

After taking in the strange sight of two women covered in dust, she said, “She made luncheon but felt ill and went upstairs to lie down. Here it is,” she said rounding the corner to a counter near the pantry. “Chicken salad, vichyssoise and fresh rolls. She apologized for not being able to make more.”

“Do you know what the matter is?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

“She said she felt dizzy and suddenly very tired. I finished up as best I could.” She sidled to the swinging doors as if in a hurry to leave.

“Thank you, Ingrid.” Mrs. Bauer looked down at her soiled skirt. “We’d better eat here in the kitchen, if that’s all right with you, Amanda.”

“It’s fine. We wouldn’t want to scare the rest of the family.”

“They won’t be down for another hour at least and by then we’ll be tackling the library again, in case we missed something.”

Amanda nodded agreement but was certain they wouldn’t find anything. Her second thought was that the life of a private investigator wasn’t nearly as exciting as she had anticipated.

Chapter 17

Amanda stood on a small wooden stepstool taking books down from the shelves one by one while Mrs. Bauer sat at the desk, once again opening drawers and sifting through papers.

It seemed to be a fruitless search, but they persisted, leaving no stone unturned.

“Mrs. Bauer, may I ask you some questions about your husband?”

“Certainly. Keeping in mind that we weren’t married all that long.”

“Just tell me what you know. Did your husband and his sister retain ties to their family in Europe?”

“It’s not clear to me when he emigrated, and he never talked about why or what happened to his family. Libby has always been close-mouthed about them, too, and I thought it would be unkind to pursue the topic. Herman mentioned that his father was strict so there may have been some disagreement about what professions the sons would undertake.”

“You mentioned a brother.”

“I think he died in the war. It’s funny how people can keep secrets even from close family. I don’t know if he saw coming to this country as his life’s ambition or if he was cut off financially from his family. There’s so much I don’t know.”

“It’s extraordinary that he was able to start a new life and be so successful in a short time,” Amanda said.

Mrs. Bauer turned to face Amanda, who had pulled a book down by the spine, looking for anything that might be hidden. “I didn’t know him as a young man, but I gather that he was very ambitious and probably ruthless as well. The story that Christine alluded to about him cheating her family in some capacity may have some truth in it.”

Amanda was surprised to hear her admit that.

“I believe that Geoff was being vague on purpose. Either to spare Rosamund’s feelings or protect himself from any implications of wrongdoing.” She got back to sorting through the top drawer and exclaimed, “Drat! I snagged my stocking!” She looked under the desk to find the offending splinter and bent her head to the side for a closer look.

“Come see this, Amanda.”

Amanda got down from the stepstool and went to the desk.

“This drawer is foreshortened. What I mean is that it is not as deep as the desk’s dimensions.” Mrs. Bauer put her hands into the drawer and pulled all the papers out and placed them on top of the desk before pulling the drawer out entirely and putting it aside. Bending her head to the side again, she put her hand into the hole and grasped a handle and withdrew the hidden drawer that was as wide as the desktop but only six inches deep.

“That man,” Mrs. Bauer said picking up a key labeled ‘NE’ and a scrap of paper from which she read,

‘Daring ideas are like chessmen moved forward. They may be beaten, but they may start a winning game. - Goethe

(As long at the tailor and the guard do their bit.)’

Now what in the world does that mean?”

“It looks like we’re back to the safety deposit box from another bank and that may give us a clue to what he was thinking. I, for one, am hardly dressed to enter a bank, much less anywhere else now. Why don’t we leave it for tomorrow and we’ll just finish the search of this room.”

“I can’t believe that I missed this before,” Mrs. Bauer said. “Who is the guard? You would have thought such a person would have announced himself earlier.” After a pause, she said, “Tomorrow is the funeral. We’ll have to leave it to the afternoon.”

“Aren’t you having some sort of reception afterwards?”

“This may sound cold, but those people who worked with him or knew him have passed already. Those who remain don’t know me at all. I have no intention of having a social event because it is expected.”

“I understand,” Amanda said, although she did not.

“I would like you to attend the service and interment, if possible. Just to keep an eye out for something that smacks as unusual.”

“Of course,” Amanda said.

“If you’d like to continue your search, I need to talk to Libby and Rosamund for last- minute arrangements.”

Amanda nodded and thought how unusual it was that nobody had sent flowers to the house and during her time there had also been no visitors to offer condolences. Had Mr. Bauer really outlived all his contemporaries, or was he disliked and distrusted by those with whom he had dealt? More puzzling was Mrs. Bauer’s reaction to recent events. She hadn’t pressed Brendan for an explanation about the murder and she seemed emotionally detached from her husband’s death. Is that what happened when you were an old married couple? She couldn’t imagine such a reaction—or lack thereof—from her mother in similar circumstances. It might be an odd family, but she was determined to attend the funeral and observe, although what she was expected to take away from it was anybody’s guess.

Amanda couldn’t wait to get home and get out of the filthy clothes. Despite the kerchief, she felt her hair was full of dust. And her nails! Taking off the gloves had been wise in terms of working more quickly, but the varnish was chipped and when she removed it, she was horrified at the dirt under her nails. A good soaking in a hot bath and a hair wash were just the thing.

Wrapped in a warm robe with her hair in a towel turban, she sat at her vanity table, carefully brushing each fingernail with the red polish and appreciating the outcome.

“Modern-day women’s problems,” she muttered. She could hear footsteps on the stairs and Louisa calling out to see if she was home. “In here,” Amanda answered, blowing on the fingers of her left hand.

“Didn’t you just do that the other day?” Louisa asked.

“When people say that private investigation is a dirty business, they aren’t kidding. I spent most of the day rummaging around in the Bauer attic and house still looking for treasure.”

“Really? I didn’t know the family was so well off. Certainly not showy about it,” Louisa said, sitting on the end of the bed.

“You haven’t seen the house. It is enormous. The man who died used to own a pharmaceutical company. Selling aspirin and cough remedies.”

“That was a smart business move. Everybody gets sick sometime.”

“Are you going to the Oasis tonight?”

“No. Staying home. Rob is working on a deal with some people and he’s being very hush-hush about it.”

“That’s not unusual, is it?” Amanda asked, not turning around but observing her sister in the vanity mirror.

“No. I think he likes to keep me out of things. ‘For my own good,’ as he puts it. Now that he’s become more successful and out in the open since Prohibition ended, all manner of people have approached him for jobs.”

Amanda turned around. “Legitimate jobs?”

“I don’t ask.”

“Louisa, you know I like Rob and I think Mother and Daddy have come around to seeing his good points, but they won’t look favorably on him if he’s doing something illegal.”

“Selling liquor was illegal not too long ago and nobody seemed to mind.”

“They did.”

“Come on, don’t be a hypocrite, too. We were serving alcohol in our home all through those years. The only difference is that Rob charged by the teacup. As you well know. Besides, these jobs are all about hauling things.”

“Now Rob is in the transportation business?” Amanda asked with a laugh.

“He had those trucks to move the alcohol from the border down to Boston and he never got rid of them. One was parked out back of the Oasis, and folks have approached him about moving merchandise and so forth. A shifty lady came into his office when I was there the other day and said she had a special job for him. She looked daggers at me, so I said goodbye but could hear her whispering to him as I left.”

“Dead bodies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Maybe she had booted her husband out and was making off with the furniture before he got home.”

“The company you keep these days, dear sister. There,” Amanda added, putting the cap back on the nail polish bottle.

“I’d throw this pillow at you, but I don’t want to ruin your beautiful nails.”

The telephone rang and, although Simona was still on duty, Louisa went to the end of the hall to answer, thinking it might be for her. She returned a few moments later.

“It’s Brendan.”

“Thanks,” Amanda said, still blowing on her newly painted right hand.

She was careful not to smudge her nails as she picked up the receiver carefully. “What’s new in your world?”

“Clyde Owens is staying permanently.”

“Oh, dear.”

“The good news is that the Chief has decided to put in a full-fledged lab, and he’ll be in charge of it.”

“That was sudden.”

“He found out Clyde has a chemistry degree and, although he’s terrible at interpersonal relationships, he does have a good head on his shoulders.”

“That’s a change of heart coming from you,” Amanda said, sitting down on the bench near the telephone alcove.

“Well, he won’t be working with me anymore.”

“That’s even better.”

“He managed to get some blood off the syringe and identified it as belonging to my brother. But he rightly surmised that the blood came from Patrick picking up the crushed glass, not from some prior activity. No other prints except his.”

“What did you learn today?”

“That I’d like to be done with the Bauer case soon because I am neglecting other jobs at my father’s firm. I looked through endless volumes of books at the Bauer house and found nothing, opened trunks and drawers and all we came up with was another safety deposit box key and a cryptic phrase on a piece of paper that didn’t make much sense. And tomorrow I’ll be attending the funeral that Mrs. Bauer has kept rather small and private.”

“Wasn’t there an obituary in the paper?” Brendan asked.

“Yes, but if you look carefully, there’s no mention of the funeral home or the service.”

“Maybe she’s trying to keep away anyone who had a grudge with her husband.”

“True. I’ll let you know if I see anything untoward.”

Chapter 18

Amanda awoke to a dreary, rainy, cold day, which made the prospect of going to a funeral even more depressing. But she soldiered on if only to offer support to Mrs. Bauer, who seemed to get little from her husband’s family.

The event was held in the small chapel at the cemetery, perhaps because Mrs. Bauer thought it expedient to have the service close to the site of the interment. The immediate family was there except for Rosie, who was deemed too young to experience it. It left Geoffrey Richardson available to comfort his wife with an arm around her shoulder that she appeared to welcome. Next to the couple were Libby and Mrs. Bauer in the front pew. The household staff sat behind them, with Mr. Waechter comforting Mrs. Schneider and Ingrid looking a bit lost. There were no other mourners.

It seemed the priest had few if any interactions with Mr. Bauer as he spoke in general terms and Amanda was thankful it was not a High Mass nor was Patrick in any way involved. That would have been too awkward. When he was done, there were six men, probably from the funeral home, who took the casket up and slowly made their way down the aisle. The priest followed and then the mourners, taking up their umbrellas in the foyer and proceeding to the burial site.

Amanda looked around and saw nobody outside save the man who had driven the hearse and then two workmen under trees near the grave. The appropriate prayers were said, a handful of dirt thrown onto the casket, and he was lowered into the earth. Rosamund looked shell-shocked, barely able to stand up without her husband’s support; only Libby and Mrs. Schneider were openly weeping. It was a sad exit for a man who had been of some note and standing in the community. The group dispersed and went to their vehicles parked nearby. Amanda thought how odd it was that there would be no reception following the burial, just everyone returning to the house in silence. She would go back to the house, as well, and then accompany Mrs. Bauer to the New England Bank to see what mysterious objects might be in the next secured box.

No sooner had they returned to the house than they heard the screams of the cook. Mrs. Bauer and Amanda raced to the kitchen to see the woman with her hands over her mouth and babbling about her keys.

“Get hold of yourself,” Mrs. Bauer said, taking the woman’s shoulders.

“They’re gone. I went upstairs to change, and my keys were not attached to my apron.”

“Have you had a thorough look around your room?” Mrs. Bauer asked.

At this point, Waechter came in, his face creased in worry. “I can go upstairs to check, if you like.”

Both women agreed, with Mrs. Schneider likely grateful not to have to climb up to the third floor. He was gone a good ten minutes before coming back and shaking his head.

“Who would want to take your keys?” Amanda asked.

“They unlock the silver drawers, the liquor cabinets and the pantry. Nobody was in the house. It must have been an intruder.”

Ingrid came into the kitchen, having changed into her uniform and hastily pinning her cap on her head. She dropped a hairpin and in picking it up said, “There they are!” pointing under the wide legs of the stove.

Waechter bent, picked them up and handed them to the cook.

“How did they get there? I changed in my room upstairs for the funeral, not down here. I never let them out of my sight otherwise.” She was relieved, yet puzzled and not entirely certain that something wasn’t amiss. “Please come with me, Mrs. Bauer. Just to be sure,” she said, leading the way into the dining room and unlocking the top drawer that held the silver. She was so familiar with its contents that she didn’t need an inventory to refer to as she moved the pieces gently with her hands. The second and third drawers were unlocked and found to be untouched.

Next, she moved to the liquor cabinet. Amanda thought if anything was missing, it would be here. A trick she had heard of was removing some of the alcohol from the bottle and replacing it with water, resulting in a watered-down original. Although there was no way of knowing if that ruse had been employed and any was missing, Mrs. Schneider pushed some bottles aside to make sure that nothing was gone from the back and closed it.

The three women went single file to the pantry, with Amanda supposing it to be the least likely location for a theft to take place, although the ham might be valuable. The shallow pantry was opened and they scanned the shelves up and down looking for any missing condiments. It all appeared in order to Mrs. Bauer and Amanda.

Mrs. Schneider pursed her lips. “Someone has been in here.”

Mrs. Bauer and Amanda looked at each other.

“If anyone would know, it would be Mrs. Schneider,” Mrs. Bauer said.

The cook walked to the back wall where one of the shelves seemed out of kilter. She pushed it to the left where it slid into the wall exposing a room behind. A small yet empty room. She looked at Mrs. Bauer with tears in her eyes.

“I don’t know what was in there, but your husband made me promise to keep the pantry locked night and day. Whatever was in there is gone.” She sat down on a stool next to the butcher block table with her head in her hands. Mr. Waechter came in and, seeing the cook in that state, went to comfort her.

“She was very attached to my husband,” Mrs. Bauer said as she and Amanda walked back to the morning room. “Very protective of him. I’m not surprised that she was muddled about things on this day. But what was in that room? The mystery treasure? It wasn’t a very large space.” She paused and looked at the paperwork on the desk. “Are you ready for yet another bank?”

“Certainly,” Amanda said. “I’d be happy to drive.”

The rain had let up and the streets were slick, but the sun tried its best to give a glimmer of light. Amanda parked in front of the bank and they entered the building designed as a temple to lucre. Once again, high ceilings, columns and lots of marble greeted them. The attendant was summoned, and he accompanied them to the lower floor, where the array of numbered boxes was stored behind a locked door. The now familiar process began where he inserted his key and Mrs. Bauer hers and he pulled the box out of the wall and placed it on the table and left.

She waited until she heard his footsteps recede before opening it up. “Will you look at this,” Mrs. Bauer said, indicating Amanda should come around to her side of the table. There was a letter addressed to her and she opened and read it. Amanda was trying to control her curiosity but Mrs. Bauer, instead of reading it aloud, summarized.

“Dated three months ago, when he was still ambulatory. I don’t know who drove him here because I certainly didn’t. He thanks me for taking care of him and says he has left me enough in the accounts that I should be comfortable.” She scanned several lines without reading them aloud and continued. “Then he says that I might not understand his strong feelings about the Fatherland, but his family sacrificed enough, and he doesn’t want it to happen again.”

“What does that mean?” Amanda asked.

“Like many of us, I think he hopes there will always be world peace. There is a medal here, probably from the Great War, although he didn’t fight in it. He was here.”

“Could it have been his father?”

“Unlikely. He was too old.”

“Do you think it was his brother? What about the uniform and the letters in the attic?”

“He must have had some friends who served in the German army, too. I think I need to talk to Libby. She’s the only one alive who would know.”

Brendan was reviewing time sheets that officers had submitted prior to his signing off on them. Next, they would go to the accounting department, which consisted of a long-time female employee who was insistent upon proper procedure. She had chewed him out the first time he had given her the slips by asking tartly if he had reviewed them and compared the entries to his calendar. It was the first time it occurred to him that he had to keep separate track of the hours worked in addition to what was given to him by the men.

The phone rang and Brendan was surprised to hear Rob Worley’s voice on the other end. They had been in each other’s company many times, sometimes uncomfortably, especially during Prohibition, but he had never had a relationship with the man outside of the involvement of the Burnside sisters.

“How can I help you?” Brendan asked.

“I believe I may be able to help you,” Rob said calmly before detailing what he knew.

The conversation was not long but informative enough that once it was concluded, Brendan asked Dominic and Clyde to make several calls to summon all the people who had been in contact with the Bauer family to come into the station the next morning. It was time to bring the investigation to an end.

Chapter 19

Clyde and Dominic made sure that all the persons of interest were gathered in the conference room at the police station before getting Brendan. Naturally, he had left Rosie out of the roll call as she was too young to either participate or listen to the details or the statements that he would make. Not that he hadn’t considered her an accomplice at one point, dismissing it when further evidence came to light.

There was the usual uncomfortable shuffling of feet and clearing of throats as the family members looked at one another and the staff, which also included the no longer employed Christine and Nurse Schultz. They seemed to have their eyes fixed on the front of the room, as if to avoid the stares of the family. Amanda was the only one who fit into neither category, and because she hadn’t spoken to Brendan since the day before, she wasn’t sure what he was going to present. Some thoughtful secretary had placed a pitcher of water and glasses on each table, which indicated that it might be a long meeting.

Brendan began by introducing himself, although everyone present knew who he was, then Clyde and Dominic, who stood on either side of the door, hands folded in front almost appearing to be guards. Their presence and stance further added to the tension, so Brendan decided to start off gently.

“From all I have learned, Mr. Bauer was a successful man with a driving ambition and a deep love of his family and his culture. His childhood was spent in Nuremberg in Bavaria, where his parents were well-to-do and could afford him the best education.” At the mention of the city and the province, Mrs. Schneider smiled broadly and nodded her head in agreement. “I learned through Miss Burnside here that there were tutors that instructed the children in English. I never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Bauer, but judging by his sister Libby, it seems they were well taught.”

Geoffrey Richardson had been eying the ashtray on the table in front of him and he took the pause to hold his index finger up for a question.

“May we smoke?” he asked.

Brendan wasn’t fond of the idea of being in a closed room with a smoker, even though the space they were in was sizable. He also feared it might start everyone doing the same and that would make the space intolerable, but when he acquiesced, Richardson was the only one to light up. In all the activity of taking out the cigarette case, tamping down the tobacco, fishing a lighter from his pocket and finally lighting one, it gave him the opportunity to glance at his watch in an obvious hint that he would rather be anywhere else.

“From what Miss Bauer told me, the family financial situation had changed, and it was then that Mr. Bauer, still a young man, decided to make his way in the United States. Since Libby was still living at home and the youngest, she wasn’t sure how he got his start here. His first wife may have known more, but as we know, she is deceased. Everything I have learned about the man points to someone who holds his cards close to his vest so we may never know the truth of how he began or how he succeeded. In my limited experience, many men of large fortunes often have an origin story of the Horatio Alger type. One that I have heard over and over is that they came to this country with less than five dollars in their pocket. But, to enter the United States about the time he may have immigrated, it was required that you had at least five dollars so that you would not be a drain on society. If you had more, you would be a fool to declare how much you really had sewn into your coat or the hem of your skirt.”

Mrs. Schneider suppressed a laugh, probably having done just that—like so many other immigrants.

“Whether he may have been funded to a degree by his family or had the minimum, you can be sure he was well dressed, fluent in English and probably did not have to take a bunk in steerage. Although he flourished in this country, he never forgot his homeland. The library and the attic are full of books in German, and he kept up with international news and events in Europe. I’m sure he did it discreetly, as all things German were disdained in the United States during and after the Great War. But whatever his actual sentiments about his homeland, he needn’t worry, due to his fluency in our language spoken with a British accent, no less. But there seem to have been some unpleasant events in his business where certain transactions may have seemed unfair to the other party.”

“I’ll say,” Christine piped up.

“Although I don’t know the details, as you can see, at least one person in the room seems to have a grudge against Mr. Bauer.”

Christine turned red and looked down.

“Let’s go to the day of Mr. Bauer’s death. Now, I know that I must disclose that I have another connection to this case. My brother, Patrick Halloran, is a Catholic priest and it was he who was called to the house to perform the last rites.”

There was a murmur in the room from the few who didn’t know this bit of information.

Amanda wondered if he was going to tell the group about their engagement as a matter of disclosure, but they had already agreed there was no conflict of interest.

“It was Father Halloran who came to the home, found the front door ajar, and nobody in the house. Having been there previously, he went to the room and ascertained that Mr. Bauer had already passed. In approaching the bed, he inadvertently stepped on the used syringe that lay on the carpet, partially crushing it. He picked it up, put it on the nightstand, then found a phone and called me, knowing I was still at our parents’ home at that time. I instructed him to call the station, giving him the number. I made my way to the house shortly thereafter. As you know, everyone in the house was outside in search of the missing cat, and it was only when they came back in that they learned of Mr. Bauer’s passing. We’ve been told he had a terminal illness and had been receiving morphine injections, but according to the Medical Examiner, the last injection he had was lethal.”

There was murmuring around the room although everyone present was already aware of that fact.

“So, who administered the lethal dose? And more importantly, why? The man was at death’s door already. What possible reason was there to hasten his death?” He let the questions sink in and then watched the reactions of those present.

“A few observations: while everyone was outside looking for the cat, obviously nobody was in the house. Or were they? It seems the household was dispersed over the grounds looking for Moritz. Did someone else come in while they were occupied with their search? Did that person take the syringe off the dresser, use it to inject Mr. Bauer and just as slyly leave? Could it have been someone who had been harboring a resentment from Mr. Bauer’s business days? Or a random attack?”

“Instead, let’s consider a motive. Mrs. Bauer has appeared rational, approachable, and fully supporting her husband’s care. Why would she want to kill him? Perhaps she already knew the contents of his will, where he didn’t specifically make provisions for her. She has said that wasn’t an issue since she could sue for her widow’s portion. But what if that calm façade was just that, and she was furious that she wasn’t specifically given a larger part of the inheritance?”

As Brendan and Amanda expected, Mrs. Bauer maintained her composure while he spoke and had no reaction when he was done.

“But she also knew or suspected that Mr. Bauer had stashed a fortune somewhere and knew if she found it, she would be well funded. So that motive doesn’t hold much water. What about Libby? The younger sister who doted on her brother. He had provided for her well into her adulthood, yet she might have held onto resentment that she was thrust into the role of part-time secretary and caregiver. Yes, she knew his illness was terminal, but was it out of compassion for his suffering or a need to get it over with that she would act?”

“I would never!” Libby shouted.

“Who else was in the house? Rosamund. As a Catholic, she knew that her father disapproved of her intention to divorce her husband and it might have seemed to her that as long as he was alive, she wouldn’t be able to act. She may have backtracked into the house, and no one saw her. Like probably the entire household, she knew there was morphine there. The clumsiness of the injection could point to someone not used to its administration or in a hurry not to be detected.”

Rosamund looked defiant and was about to stand up to protest, but her husband pulled her back down. All the staff, Mrs. Schneider, Ingrid and Mr. Waechter were outside on the hunt, and they, too, could have backtracked into the house, but what motive did any of them have? Mrs. Schneider spoke warmly about her employer, as did Mr. Waechter. When interviewing Ingrid, I didn’t detect any animus, just that she was upset by the incident.”

“If we can assume that someone in the household sneaked back into the house, why couldn’t someone from the outside have done the same? Christine was away for the weekend and could have returned early. We know that she blamed Mr. Bauer for somehow cheating her family, even though he gave her a job as a nanny. She could easily have slipped into the house and, even if discovered, could have maintained that she got back early and not raised any suspicions. She was very helpful in producing the train ticket stub that she easily could have got by going back to the station. In fact, I think that’s what she did since the stub looked as if it had been on the floor, trodden on by many people, and it was for the wrong day.”

“That’s absurd. You can check with my parents that I spent the weekend with them.”

“The round-trip train journey from your parents’ house to the Bauers is such that if you had told your parents you were out with friends for the day, they wouldn’t notice you were gone.”

Christine rolled her eyes at the suggestion.

“Which also brings Mr. Richardson into the picture,” Brendan said, watching the man casually putting out his second cigarette in the ashtray and not making eye contact.

“He couldn’t account for his trip here this week with any ticket stubs. Perhaps he left his friends in Tuxedo a day early, which I haven’t been able to confirm with that family. He could have come on Sunday, unbeknownst to any of the family. The Bauer house is huge, and he could have waited for a moment to lure the cat outside and then raised the cry.”

“Surely someone would have noticed it was I who called out,” Richardson said.

“I would think that someone such as yourself who has been working recently in radio might have a host of voices to employ. I’ll bet you can recreate a female voice.”

“I don’t do falsetto,” he replied with a sneer.

Richardson stuck his chin out defiantly.

“All I have heard from the family and staff is that ‘somebody’ raised the alarm, but nobody has been pinpointed as having first seen the cat run outside or admitting to alerting the others.”

“There was a lot of chaos at the time and Rosie was so upset,” Rosamund said.

“And how well does Mr. Richardson know Christine? She seemed awfully familiar with a man who had been separated from his wife and therefore not in the house much. Perhaps the two of them worked together to hasten Mr. Bauer’s death.”

Brendan paused to take a breath and drink from a glass of water. He sat on the table at the front of the room with his legs hanging down. He surveyed the assembled group.

“And how does the alleged hidden treasure figure into all this? What if the answer lies in some other scheme entirely?”

Chapter 20

Everyone shifted in their seat, partly in relief that he was finally getting to the meat of the issue or that they were no longer suspects but that it was the work of some random stranger or maniac, as they had long hoped.

“I have noticed that certain staff seem to have formed friendships in their time working at the Bauers’ house. Mrs. Schneider and Mr. Waechter, for example.” They smiled shyly at his observation. “Nurse Schultz and Ingrid.” Their reaction consisted of stone faces.

“There was a curious piece of paper hidden in Mr. Bauer’s desk drawer. He took the paper out of his pocket and read:

‘Daring ideas are like chessmen moved forward. They may be beaten, but they may start a winning game. - Goethe

(As long at the tailor and the guard do their bit.)’

“What in the world did he mean? Yesterday we found out that someone had used Mrs. Schneider’s keys to gain access to the pantry where there was a sliding shelf revealing a hidden—and empty—room. Was there really gold? And had it been in there?” He paused and waited for the expressions of surprise on each and every face.

“Who knew about it? Not the cook. All she knew was that Mr. Bauer trusted her implicitly and she trusted Mr. Waechter. They didn’t need to know what was so precious about the pantry except for an eccentric man’s collection of strange condiments. They didn’t need to. All they needed to do was to protect it. That was the meaning of the sentence from Mr. Bauer. Who is the guard? A Waechter in German.” He gestured to the butler. “And who sews things together? A tailor. A Schneider.” He gestured to the cook.

“I don’t think Mr. Bauer was referring to this family as being pieces on a chessboard. It was the situation back in Germany that he was referring to. His family in Germany had suffered by being on the wrong side of things politically and lost their fortune. While Mr. Bauer made his escape to America, his younger brother did not and was later conscripted into the army in the Great War.”

Libby spoke up. “Yes, he was a pacifist by nature, he wanted to be a conscientious objector, something my father could not abide. His service was so traumatic that he tried to desert and was executed by his own country. One of his uniforms and his cadet medal are in a trunk in the attic.” She began to weep at the memory.

Brendan continued. “Mr. Bauer treasured his German heritage but held a deep anger toward the government that did this to his brother. He was fully in support of overthrowing that regime in favor of leaders in the Nationalist Socialist German Workers’ party. That’s what the gold was for. And he had every intention of somehow getting that fortune back to the Fatherland to fund their efforts.”

“He found an ally for these sentiments in Nurse Schultz, whose parents were German. During periods when Mr. Bauer was still lucid, he had long political discussions with her, making sure that she was really of the same persuasion. She had an easy time getting Ingrid in on the idea, because she felt that people in this country mistreated her due to her heritage. Mr. Bauer hinted that there was a hidden fortune. Just not where it was. That was infuriating. In their spare moments, they scoured the house looking for the possible hiding place. And they continued to reassure Mr. Bauer that they would fulfill his wishes.”

The nurse had clamped her mouth shut, refusing to react. Ingrid was wide-eyed and frightened and shook her head in denial.

“And then in the last days of his life, when he could still speak, he decided against the plan of sending it overseas, instead leaving it for his family. It was probably this hesitation on his part of causing more bloodshed that was plaguing his conscience and had him returning to his Catholic faith, having priests visit the house. When he admitted it to Nurse Schultz, she was having none of it. She had already communicated to her political group here and to the Nazi party back home that she might be in possession of a great fortune that could put Germany back on top. The problem was: where was it? They had looked everywhere. Then she realized that Mrs. Schneider was in possession of the only keys to the silver, the liquor and the pantry. Nurse Schultz had seen inside the silver drawers and the liquor cabinet and there was no trace of a treasure there. But the pantry was locked all the time. And she had stood nearby when the cook opened the door one day and was probably surprised at what a small space it was. The idea struck her that was where it lay. She whispered her thoughts to Mr. Bauer who reacted so strongly that she knew she was correct and gave him his routine shot to keep him quiet.”

“Then she hatched her plan. She was the one who let the cat out and called for help. Everyone was outside but, by prior arrangement, Ingrid slipped back in. It wouldn’t do for the nurse to administer the lethal dose—there was too much at stake personally for her. But Ingrid was talked into it. She was so nervous, she did a bad job of it, bruising the man’s arm and then in her haste to leave, dropping the syringe.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Nurse Schultz said. “How could Ingrid know how to do that?”

“Practice. Mrs. Schneider, remember that you noticed someone had poked holes in the oranges in the kitchen? Miss Burnside told me you thought it was a mischievous child. It was not. It was someone practicing giving an injection into the orange. It’s a common technique in training nurses.”

The nurse glared at him. “Holes in an orange? That’s your proof?”

“Of all the people assembled here, only you, Nurse Schultz, and Christine were not at the funeral. Despite your ill feeling toward Mr. Bauer, I don’t believe that the young lady had the guile to concoct the scheme for which more than one person was required. While everyone was at the funeral, you went to the Bauer house, came in the unlocked back door, courtesy of Ingrid, and stole the keys from Mrs. Schneider’s room to search the pantry. You found the gold, all right.

Then you put the keys under the stove by prearrangement with Ingrid, who pretended to have spotted them by accident. No one was to suspect anything, and Mrs. Schneider was meant to appear absent-minded or befuddled.

Nurse Schultz laughed. “That’s ridiculous. I welcome you to search my modest apartment. You know where it is. You followed Ingrid there one day. You’ve had it out for me since you came here.”

“The gold is not in your apartment. You had already contracted to have a truck ready with men to haul out the boxes whose contents were known only to you. Looking like the cook with an apron over your street clothes, you opened the kitchen door to them. They may have assumed it was some kind of food they were moving out of the pantry. Once they were done, I have someone who can tell you exactly where it is.”

Brendan nodded to Dominic, who opened the door and ushered in a well-dressed man in his late twenties or early thirties. Everyone in the room was puzzled except for the nurse, whose eyes widened at first glance then narrowed with a venomous look.

“I’m Rob Worley. I own the Oasis nightclub. The gold is ina basement room of the Oasis, where it was placed by agreement with Nurse Schultz, thinking it would be on its way to Germany sometime later today. Only it’s not going anywhere. I first noticed you and your little friend attending those Friends of New Germany meetings at my establishment.” He held up his hands to quiet the murmurings of the group, intending to explain further.

“I rent out our meeting rooms to many clubs and organizations that have no dedicated space of their own. Most are high-spirited, jolly groups of people like the Rotarians, who come together for fellowship or service projects. But the group that Nurse Schultz and Ingrid belong to has a darker, more sinister tone. I had one of my waiters listen in, and he relayed that they were intent on overthrowing the current government of Germany.”

All but Nurse Schultz and Ingrid gasped at the possible implications. The two women were busy looking at the floor.

“She approached me about moving some goods, knowing that I have a small fleet of trucks, saying that her employer had relatives overseas and he was sending them canned food. The whole story sounded fishy, so I called Sergeant Halloran and alerted him to a possible heist. When I gave him the address, he knew exactly what it was. And when the pickup happened, it was obvious by its weight what was in the boxes. Once safely stored, I called the Sergeant and related the intended progression of events, including the name of the ship.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Bauer said, clasping her hands in gratitude. Libby leaned over and grasped her sister-in-law’s hand.

Geoffrey Richardson and Rosamund embraced in what might have been the beginning of a reconciliation.

Brendan nodded to Dominic and Clyde, who produced handcuffs and put them on the two shocked co-conspirators and led them from the room. The Bauer family came forward to shake Brendan’s hand and Rob’s while Mrs. Schneider and Mr. Waechter looked amazed at the two criminals they had been working with.

“You don’t know what this means to me,” Mrs. Bauer said.

“But I do,” Rob said. “My father died in the Great War. I have no intention of having that happen to anyone’s family again.”

They could hear Nurse Schultz protesting in the hallway outside. “I don’t belong here!”

“Don’t worry, ma’am, you’ll be transferred to a federal facility in no time.”

The family and staff were embracing each other while Rob and Amanda followed Brendan to his office.

“I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Brendan asked, unlocking a bottom drawer in his desk and taking out a bottle of expensive Scotch. He reached behind for three short glasses and poured a finger for each of them. “Here’s to cooperation.”

“Thank goodness you hosted those events at the Oasis; otherwise, you never would have happened onto their scheme,” Amanda said.

“Yes, there was more than a little luck involved.”

Chapter 21

Feeling grateful that the case had been solved, Brendan offered to take the Burnsides, Rob and Louisa to dinner. His treat.

“Although it should be your treat, Amanda,” he said when they were seated at a large table at Catalano’s and served glasses of red wine. “You’re the one who got paid to do the legwork.”

“That’s exactly why it should be your treat,” she countered. “You’ll get the credit.”

“Yes, but you’ll get the reward from Mrs. Bauer.”

“We’ll have to check the wording in the contract,” Mr. Burnside said.

“It reads, ‘ascertain the location’ if you recall, Daddy. I think that works.”

They toasted Brendan and Amanda for their joint success and then Rob for alerting Brendan to the scheme of taking something by stealth from the Bauer house.

“Let’s not forget Mr. Burnside, who has a German dictionary in his library. I knew that Schneider meant tailor but wanted to know who the guard was. Several translations presented themselves and then I saw Waechter, and it all came together. It may not have clicked except that German capitalizes nouns and suddenly, I was staring at the butler’s name.”

“Here’s to libraries,” Louisa said.

“I hope they don’t feel badly that they weren’t able to protect the precious gold,” Amanda said.

“They did the best they could without knowing what it was they were guarding. Or where it was exactly,” Brendan said. “Mr. Bauer’s attempt to be cagey or mysterious actually saved the fortune.”

“I may know something about making money, but I don’t know anything about the value of gold coins. Do you have an estimate of what he had hoarded?” Rob asked.

“Although Clyde has an amateur’s interest in coins, once we get an appraiser in, we’ll get an accurate estimate of the value. However, it seems Mrs. Bauer and all the relatives won’t have to worry about the comfort of their future.”

Mr. Russo, the owner of Catalano’s, came to the table with a large platter of antipasto. “For the family,” he said.

Amanda said, “In other news, Brendan, Fred Browne got wind of your comments about narcotics in the household and his connection to the family. Certainly not from me. And suddenly, I have been disinvited from his wedding to Valerie.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Burnside said.

“Mother, they had already cut the plus ones, so it would have been a dreadfully boring event anyway. I think it reflects badly on them both for being snobs and vindictive.”

“Agreed!” Louisa said.

“I can see what he saw in you, but what you saw in him…,” Brendan said to Amanda.

“We only dated a short while and that was enough for me to make up my mind. My idea of excitement was not going to early music recitals. I’m sorry that he took it so badly. And I’m sorry for Valerie that she faces a lifetime with him.”

“Here, here!” Mr. Burnside said. “And what will you do with your treasure, Amanda?”

“I should do something sensible with part of it. And I will. But I think I will treat us to a visit to the ski slopes. All of us. Mother, Daddy, Rob, Louisa, Brendan and me.”

“Not us,” Mrs. Burnside said. “We never skied, and we’d just sit by the fire, which we can do at home. You young folks go.”

“Here, here!” Louisa cheered as they toasted again and looked forward to a pleasant, yet uneventful, ski vacation.

Uneventful? Be serious.

Can Amanda and Brendan go anywhere where a murder isn’t afoot?

Find out in:

CHRISTMAS MURDER ON THE SLOPES

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